


The Scandalmongers

by ladyendymion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Quidditch, Drinny - Freeform, F/M, Infidelity, Post Hogwarts AU, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch Player Draco Malfoy, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, compliant through Half-Blood Prince, harry and ginny not married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:52:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyendymion/pseuds/ladyendymion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You have no idea how hard it is to live out a great romance. ~ Wallis Simpson, the Duchess of Windsor</p><p>When an engaged Ginny Weasley was traded to the Wimbourne Wasps, she never expected to fall in love with teammate Draco Malfoy. She certainly never expected their love letters to be stolen and published to the entire Wizarding public. This is a story of how a love affair began and the scandal that rocked Wizarding society.</p><p>Originally written for the Fall 2011 DG Forum Exchange; now heavily expanded and revised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

#  **The Scandalmongers**  

You have no idea how hard it is to live out a great romance. ~ Wallis Simpson, the Duchess of Windsor 

A school for Scandal! tell me, I beseech you,  
Needs there a school this modish art to teach you?  
No need of lessons now, the knowing think;  
We might as well be taught to eat and drink.  
Caused by a dearth of scandal, should be vapours  
Distress our fair ones – let them read the papers;  
Their powerful mixtures such disorders hit;  
Crave what you will – there’s quantum sufficit.  
………………………………..  
So strong, so swift, the monster’s there’s no gagging:  
Cut Scandal’s head off, still the tongue is wagging,  
Proud of your smiles once lavishly bestow’d,  
Again our young Don Quixote takes the road;  
To show his gratitude he draws his pen,  
And seeks his hydra, Scandal, in his den.  
For your applause all perils he would through –    
He’ll fight – that’s write – a cavalliero true,  
Till every drop of blood – that’s ink – is spilt for you.  
~ From David Garrick’s Prologue to _The School for Scandal_ by Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 1777

  

# Prologue

 

And when we love our sin then we are damned indeed.  
~ Graham Greene, _The Power and the Glory_  

She crunched the newsprint into a ball in her hand, squeezing until her knuckles whitened and her pinky nail made a sharp indentation into her palm.  Until she could no longer see the _Daily Prophet’s_ society headline and only a small corner of a photo peeking through the space between her forefinger and her thumb.  She leaned back into her chair, keeping her breath and her nerves steady, and resisting every urge to scream in frustration or to throw her tea cup into the fireplace.  

Though never comfortable with it, Ginny Weasley had grown used to press coverage.  As a Chaser for the Wimbourne Wasps, she accepted it; as the fiancé of Harry Potter, she expected it. 

But paparazzi and half-truths and rumours printed as facts – sometimes she had little patience for the media.  Now days, very little indeed.  Yet, she could not resist looking into _Page Six_ every now and again, though it made her angry more often than not.  The breathless anticipation for a wedding that would never be and supposed family feuds made her frown, though at the moment, such nonsense had very little to do with the real cause of her stress.  

She tossed the paper towards the bin, resolutely ignoring the smooth unread page on the table beside her even as her eyes darted towards the smirking picture of father and son Malfoy shaking hands with the chairwoman of some charity or other.  The Malfoys still smirked at her in the glow of the firelight.  She would not pick up that page.  She would not. 

Ginny had not seen Draco for some weeks – beyond the occasional citations in the press for charitable drives or rumours that he had been seen with this or that witch.  Training camp was still weeks away and he generally liked to spend the off-season secluded in some country estate or other, avoiding inevitable Quidditch or Death Eater questions.  Long gone indeed was the attention-seeking Malfoy who exaggerated injuries at school and bandied about his father’s name like a weapon.  Oh, he could still be attention-seeking.  Now days he was more likely to shun the press until it suited him and he had learned to play them masterfully.  She envied him that even as she envied his secluded estates.  She would love to escape paparazzi intrusions, but she did not have ancestral estates scattered across the kingdom and in France, well-equipped to repel persistent paparazzi.  She had only her apartment and the Burrow – that not-quite impregnable fortress – and her mother who seemed able to wrangle even Rita Skeeter.  She had hid there just last week, pleading a headache from the hit she had taken in the Cup final as an excuse to avoid the opening of the new children’s wing at St. Mungo’s Hospital.  

If she were completely honest with herself (as she rarely was these days), she feared meeting Draco there far more than she feared trouble with the media.  She did not know how to meet him anymore in hostile terms.  Wasn’t that strange? 

To have Harry there beside her while she nearly vibrated with anxiety.  She could not imagine any scenario in which the evening could pass peacefully.  As oblivious as he could be at times, Harry would have to be a complete imbecile _not_ to notice the sudden and visceral coldness between herself and Draco after months of … well … _friendship._  

She was ashamed of that piece of cowardice.  Where had all of her Gryffindor bravery gone? 

Ginny was, therefore, surprised when Draco’s familiar eagle owl, Cesare, flew through her open bedroom window and landed neatly on her cluttered desk.  He shook his feathers and dropped a thin missive.  She stood to take the missive from the bird and offered him a treat, which he, as usual, scorned and flew away. 

She eyed the parchment with apprehension and even more so the owl flying haughtily away.  What had Draco been thinking to send his owl to her?  After all the innuendo of recent months and both Luna and Harry knew his owl by now.  What reason had they to correspond now?  This she muttered to herself as she picked it up and broke the seal. 

 _Come to Swynford immediately.  There is a situation and I would rather not put anything to paper which may be intercepted.  The Apparition wards still admit you.  Do **not** travel by Floo.  I’ve disconnected._  

He did not sign his name. 

This could not be good.  Though she had also grown a little too used to Malfoy paranoia, she now understood it, and could be (and was too often) paranoid herself.  Still, his usually elegant hand was jerky.  Draco was always perfect in his appearance.  To have inelegantly written a note – one could almost say sloppily – was akin to having uncombed hair.  It simply was not done.  This fact worried her more than his words.  Something was wrong indeed. 

A huge lump formed in her throat; the fear which had sprung over her now and again since Harry’s latest injury and recovery caught up to her now.  Had they been caught?  Now when it had long been over, had they been caught? 

She folded the parchment with only slightly shaking hands and tucked it into her trouser pocket as she glanced around for her wand. 

Well then, she had to remind herself, she did not yet know what Draco meant – and he might mean anything.  Sometimes, he was still prone to dramatics.  Perhaps it was the team.  Dear Merlin, let it be the team. 

She quickly scribbled a vague note to Luna, whom she expected at any moment before grabbing the wand stuck in her chair’s side. 

* * *

* * *

 

She found him on the balcony of his rooms and not in his accustomed library.  Pacing and raking a hand through his unusually messy hair.  Not good at all. 

He stopped at her, “Draco,” and met her by the large open French doors.  His eyes were tight and worried, his movements jerky, and he seemed so much older than he had only two months ago, when they had won the European Cup and had been so giddy and reckless.  Now, he seemed more like the 17-year-old unsure of his part in the war. 

She couldn’t seem to move towards him, and stared dumbly, her fingertips aching right along with her chest.  Please, she thought.  She wanted to press her head against his chest to hear his heart beat, thump, thump, and steady hers to his rhythm.  To be in sync.  Again.  But that had been their problem, had it not?  They were too in sync and it was wrong.  It was wrong. 

“Gin,” he breathed.  At least he did not seem angry. 

He pulled her into him and kissed her with a moan, settling his hands in the small of her back.  She sighed and fluttered her eyes closed, hoping he could not feel the tear streaking down her cheek.  God she needed him; it was so far past wanting.  So, she indulged them both for a moment before pulling away. 

“No,” she insisted. “I can’t – We are through, remember?” She could not forget any detail of their argument and their break.  It ran through her mind daily.  “We … decided.”  She crossed her arms protectively and moved several feet away.  She could not trust herself so near to him, especially when he looked so vulnerable. 

“You mean _you_ decided.” 

She gaped at him, anger sparking and making her flush. “I said a break for now.  _You_ were the one that –” 

He scoffed, drawing up and into himself, his eyes narrowed and so like his father at that moment that she might have gasped if she had not seen this before.  She called it “becoming Malfoyish” to his annoyance, his default attitude in most frustrating situations.  She had seen him thus at press and society events when his past was sometimes flung back at him.  She had not often seen this side of him turned to herself since her school days. 

“Because you are a fucking coward.” She hated that tone too. 

“I – I was worried about both our futures.” 

“Right.  That is such a convenient excuse.  Our _futures_ – where have I heard that?  Oh, right – _every_ single time –” 

“Draco, you were worried too, remember?  When it was just a rumour that we _might_ fancy one another?” 

He ignored her. “I survived the Dark Lord and the Death Eater damage to my name.  What makes you think that I can’t survive _Potter_?  Or that I even care what Potter and his band of Merry Men think about anything?” 

“You should care – after everything, especially after us,” she hissed. “Because he has power, Draco, more than we have. I have felt the world turn on me because of Harry before.”  He was so damn reckless and obstinate; he probably only summoned her to replay a fight which had been fought a dozen times in the past few months.  Damn him. 

He scoffed again, and turned away from her stiffly. “It always comes down to Scarhead.” 

“You know that’s not it. If it were just us,” she insisted, her tone just as harsh despite her words, “if it were just us, then I would choose you, over and over.”  Dear Merlin, she wanted to place her hands around his jaw and _force_ him to look at her.  Make him see this truth at least.  There was no contest really.  Instead, she explained, “Harry’s injured right now.  He just got out of St. Mungo’s.  He’s part of my family.  I can’t just leave right now.  That hasn’t changed.” 

“Yes, it has,” he sneered. 

“No, it hasn’t.” 

“ _Yes,_ it has, Ginevra.” He moved past her to his unusually cluttered desk to retrieve a letter.  When he handed it to her, he seemed slightly wary and vulnerable again. “Just read it, then I’ll answer any questions.” 

She opened the slightly crumbled parchment and quickly scanned the too-neat handwriting. “Oh my God,” she murmured and looked up at Draco briefly, who nodded in confirmation.  She read it much slower another time, her hands visibly shaking.  She must have gone white, she must have, because, dear Merlin above, she felt all the blood rush away from her face.  

But somehow, her heart continued to beat, because the sound of it pounded in her ears mercilessly. 

She could hardly digest the contents, hardly knew how to respond or act. “Do you know who sent this?” she asked, sitting down at the edge of his bed, suddenly weak.  

“Not yet,” he murmured. “My attorneys are working on a list of suspects – but with my past and my father’s, it’s a long list.  I’ve hired a private investigator.  I also have my own suspicions.” 

“Wh–who do you suspect?” 

“Pansy, primarily.” 

“Oh, right, yes,” she paused. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She did look a little green, so he called for a house elf to bring a potion. 

“When did you receive it?” 

“Last evening. My attorneys have been working on it for the past 24 hours. I didn’t want to tell you, but they haven’t been able to stop publication.” His voice softened, finally, like it did that day in the hospital nearly a year ago, when she had been concussed again.  Just like that, as gentle as a Malfoy voice could be. 

“You should have told me, Draco. I should have –” What, she thought, what should I have done?  She didn’t like the helplessness of his expression, which must mirror her own. 

“I hoped to have put a stop to it. Apparently, not even Malfoys have enough galleons to fix this.” 

“How did this happen?” She glanced down at her shaking hands, because, it was too much to meet Draco’s gaze after all.  She still held the letter and flung it away as though it burnt her.  So this was what ruin felt like.  Real ruin.  Not like the war when everything was out of her control and all the forces of evil were external.  This, this was her own doing.  Even if someone else – even then … 

“I don’t know that either,” he conceded with a sigh.  Deflated – and she decided that she hated that expression too.  Deflate.  It was an awful word.  Yet, she felt it too.  All the air - wooshed - right out her own body along with her blood.  Deflated like Draco who seemed to have lost too much of the cockiness that she had begun to rely upon. 

He explained, “I never noticed anything missing, Gin. I’ve been over the security spells, interrogated all the house elves and most of the footmen so far.  The thing is, nothing _is_ missing.” He turned to a hidden cabinet, opening it with a spell and then opened a safe and took out a small packet of letters.  He tossed them to her. “They’re all there.” 

She untied the black satin ribbon holding the bundle together and went through the small packet.  They were all there – every letter and note, salacious and otherwise, angtsy, worn.  She opened a few and could not help smiling sadly at a few of their expressions.  Written mostly when Draco had been sidelined with injury in the winter and a few naughty summons in the spring.  These were the only times that they had been apart and she had felt his absence more keenly than she had ever felt Harry’s absences over the years. 

She could not make herself destroy any and left them to Draco’s small safe when the season ended, and Harry had been injured, and she was afraid of discovery.  She’d almost asked him to burn them all then, feeling the full weight of her guilt.  As if destroying the evidence of her betrayal would make the hurt lessen.  Yet, she could not make herself do it ultimately.  Not when they had meant so much more than any correspondence had a right mean.  And that was always the gist, right?  Nothing between them was ever supposed to mean as much as it had. 

“Which ones did they get?” she asked. “I think that they are all here.”  It made her even more ill to think of someone, perhaps especially Pansy, rifling through their intimate correspondence.  It was more than an intrusion. 

He sighed again and sat down next to her, picking through a few letters on her lap. “Nott thinks that the thief copied a few letters and returned the originals.  I’ve been through the letters myself.  I can’t tell exactly, but these two seemed to have been folded back the wrong way.” He pulled out two letters for her inspection. 

 _… I am despondently in love with you as I have never been …_  

“Oh,” she took them, reading over them again. “Oh.” A letter to Draco and a letter from him.  Their words left little doubt as to their real relationship.  And they would be published for all the Wizarding World to see in the _Tattler_ tomorrow morning. 

“I’m still fighting it, Gin, but I had to tell you now – so that you could do any ... damage control.” 

She looked up at him then. “Damage control, yes that would be prudent, wouldn’t it?  Though I don’t know how I could at this point.” She paused, brushing her fingers over Draco’s signature at the bottom of one page.  She had loved him so much at the receipt of this letter, and had been ready to throw Harry over for him.  But then, Harry had been attacked, and she had felt unable to spring this on him, and then her family had assumed ... She had been a coward, certainly – and everything that was happening now was her fault.  And Draco’s too.  They’d brought ruin upon themselves.  How could there ever be enough damage control for that? 

All that and Draco still wanted her.  She reached over, allowing letters to fall onto the floor and curled her arms around his chest, resting her chin on his shoulder. “So we’re found out then,” she murmured into his hair. 

“Yes, we’re found out,” he echoed, returning her embrace and pressing her tightly to him.  So tightly.  It was always so wrong, and it felt wrong even when it felt natural.  She kissed just below his ear and he sagged against her a little.  Because, what did it matter now?  When everyone was going to know, what was the point of pulling apart now?  She just – 

“Please,” she whispered into his ear, “just please,” and moved up to kiss him properly and share his breath.  After all, he needed her too.  She could feel it, the need, long before she had recognized it.  She liked to think she could always feel it with him.  Perhaps she always had.  But when he kissed her back, none of this reasoning mattered.  It was just them, against the world; and this scandal about to break apart their world made her truly realise that this was the way it had been for them, from the very beginning, all the way back to that bookshop. 

 _Leave him alone._

_Look Potter.  You’ve got yourself a girlfriend._  

All the way back to that very first meeting.  Because without that moment, without Lucius Malfoy slipping the diary into her things and all that followed through the years, to her trade to the Wasps and their flying together and working together, Ginny would not be with him now.  

She could never have loved Draco as she did now had she not hated him first. 

He pulled back and looked at her with questioning eyes.  She didn’t know how to tell him all this yet. “I’m not being fickle, I promise,” she said. “This is it, you and me.” 

“Are you sure …” he began, “because the papers.” 

“No!” Ginny pressed a harsh kiss against his lips. “Not ever because of that.  Never.”  She swallowed. “I have been wrong to both you and … Harry, and I am sorry for that Draco.” 

Draco recoiled a little, clearly alarmed by her direction.  He never liked sentimentality, and she could not help smiling a little at this. “But I am not … even if I could, I would never go back to Harry.  You are it for me, Draco.” She played with the hair at the nape of his neck, loving the silky texture.  Merlin, she had missed him, but he had not said a word to her declaration. 

“That is, I mean …” 

He kissed her then, pushing her back onto the bed. “I’ll send Weston for your things,” he replied. “Stay here, we’ll wait the scandal out here.” 

She pulled him down to her, swallowing her guilt, and concentrating on the feel of his weight, his knee pressed against her thigh.  But she had grown too good at swallowing guilt and losing herself in Draco.  _That_ had to stop didn’t it?  She didn’t have a choice. “I need to warn my parents and I need to see Harry.  He deserves at least that much from me,” she muttered. 

Draco frowned, but nodded in understanding, and brushed his knuckles across her cheek. So earnest, yet still a little guarded. He murmured, “You’re it for me too, Gin.” 

They were in this together, and even though she dreaded the morning, she was okay.  Wasn’t that strange?

 


	2. Chapter 1: A page from the fairy-tale books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was the flower amid a toiling world,  
> Where people smiled to see one happy thing,  
> And they were proud and glad to raise me high;  
> They only asked that I should be right fair,  
> A little kind, and gowned wondrously,  
> And surely it were little praise to me  
> If I had pleased them well throughout my life.  
> ~ Sara Teasdale, “Guenevere”
> 
> Author’s note: The chapter’s title is a line taken from the “Prologue” of Rogers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella. 
> 
> Sorry this chapter has taken so long. Real life got in the way of writing and then a severe case of writer’s block too. I also completely rewrote this chapter. I do not intend to take two months between chapters in the future, I promise. Also, I am currently looking for a beta.

**_Eighteen months previously …_ **

_Daily Prophet,_ “Page Six,” an excerpt from Parvati Patil’s society column

Prince William and Kate Middleton who?

 A source close to Wizarding England’s most glamourous couple tells us that the Boy Who Lived and the future Mrs. will make an appearance at this Saturday’s annual Ministry ball commemorating the defeat of Grindelwald. Though notoriously shy for attending Ministry functions together, the couple is more in demand than ever since the announcement of their engagement. And we are more anxious than ever to catch a glimpse of the ring so closely guarded in photographs.

 Rumour has it that Miss Weasley sports an emerald to match her intended’s eyes. However, dear Sixers, I favour a ruby to honour House Gryffindor and we have often seen Miss Weasley’s preference for that colour in other jewelry and tokens. In any case, we very much doubt that the couple will keep the rather boring tradition of a diamond solitaire. Ginny Weasley’s eclectic style has always been a point in our readers’ favour.

 We have no doubt that the couple will make a grand entrance and put to rest all the concerns for Miss Weasley’s latest Quidditch injury.

 Also expected to make an appearance is Draco Malfoy, last year’s _Witch Weekly_ sexiest wizard alive, muse of Pansy Parkinson, and all-around Quidditch bad boy. Mr. Malfoy stands in for his parents who are currently enjoying a holiday on their private island in Greece.

 Mr. Malfoy also happens to be Ginny Weasley’s newest teammate since she was traded to the Wimbourne Wasps earlier this week. Of course, no one could forget the rivalry between Malfoy and Potter during their school days. Their legendary scuffles and one-upmanship were always a good source of gossip for those of us fortune enough to attend Hogwarts with them. It will be interesting, indeed, to see if that old enmity bleeds into adulthood.

 Methinks, we smell a bit of potential drama and promise to be vigilant in reporting all the gossipy tidbits of Saturday’s soirée, dear Sixers!

 Too bad other commitments prevent Ms. Parkinson’s attendance.

 

* * *

* * *

  

“Dear Merlin, did either of you read Parvati’s column this morning? She is already in fine form for the ball,” Ginny complained, adjusting her gown. She was huddled in the private fitting room of Luna and Lavender’s Diagon Alley dress shop where the three friends were preparing for the evening’s ball together. A hazy dream-like atmosphere – puffs of gauzy and pale fabric and glimmering trinkets surrounding them; swaths of silk draping across the tops of standing mirrors and fine muslin hanging over lamps muted lighting to a warm, dusky glow. It was a dream and Ginny loved hanging about their shop to watch them create and model designs and run her fingers through soft material and admire all the colours and fabric the girls found in travels. Their shop was a haven from the muddy Quidditch pitch and the nosy comments of reporters and prying eyes of the public who felt that they were _owed_ too much of her private life.

 “Indeed, she is,” Lavender responded with a roll of her eyes. “We had lunch the other day to ‘catch up’ which is Parvati code for information gathering.”

 “I’m sure that’s not entirely true,” Luna defended.

 “No,” Lavender conceded, “but it is mostly true. Anyway, she got not a word from me, not the shade of our dresses nor the cut of Ginny’s ring.” Her voice was firm and nearly reminded Ginny of Hermione just as she was about to go into one of her rants.

 “While I appreciate the sentiment, Lav,” Ginny laughed, “I don’t think total secrecy is necessary. It’s not a state secret.” Luna nodded in agreement.

 “You know you cannot give her even a hint, Ginny. She spins anything into a sensational headline.”

 “That is her job, Lavender, though I can imagine that it would be exhausting to be so constantly on your guard around her,” said Luna.

 “Yes it is.”

 “Which is why I never join you on these lunches,” Luna added slyly.

 Lavender stuck out her tongue at Luna.

 The three were silent for a bit, pulling on their gowns and picking through costume jewelry, taking as much concern in their appearance as any bride would on her wedding day. The Ministry Ball was one of the most important events of the social season and a prime opportunity to showcase Luna and Lavender’s work. Both witches took especial care with Ginny’s look as they knew from past experience that she would be picked apart in European gossip columns for weeks. So they fluttered around their friend as they fidgeted with their own gowns.

 “No, no,” Ginny insisted, motioning Luna away and tucking red strands of hair behind the sparkling bandeau resting across her forehead. She frowned, poking the accessory with her forefinger. “Luna, are you really sure about this?”

 Luna nodded, “Absolutely, Ginny, you look like a dream.” She held different earring styles up to Ginny’s ears, before dismissing each, and frowning.

 Lavender, who had been straightening the hem of Ginny’s robe, glanced at their reflection in the mirror. “Is your head still bothering you?”

 “No, it’s not that. I’ve not had any headaches for weeks now.” Although she protested, Ginny’s left hand moved towards her temple massaging lightly, a gesture all-too-common since a concussion had taken her out of Quidditch for two months.

 “Then what’s wrong with the bandeau?” Lavender asked, turning her attention back to the hem, running her wand across to smooth the line and sitting back to admire her work.

 Ginny still fidgeted with the item, turning her head this way and that, examining each angle. She restrained herself from running fingers through the curls of her new long bob. “It just seems a bit much.”

 Lavender rolled her eyes. “I am the designer here,” she reminded Ginny, “and I am determined to make a splash this season.”

 “I second that,” Luna said, “and I’m also a designer, so there.” She circled Ginny, only just noticing Lavender to avoid tripping, and dangled a few necklaces in front of her friend. “Which do you like?”

 Lavender stood up. “Don’t ask for her opinion, Luna, or we’ll never make it to the ball on time.”

 Ginny stuck her tongue out at Lavender. “That is unfair – and untrue.”

 “Of course it’s true. You’ve been agonising over this event for weeks now,” Lavender responded.

 “And when you agonise, you are very indecisive,” Luna offered.

 “And you haven’t?” Ginny retorted. “I just think that this might be …” she motioned across her body. “It’s the Ministry and you know how stuffy they are.”

 The three of them turned to the mirror, their eclectic fashions different enough to fit their personalities, but evident of the signature and vintage stylings of Luna and Lavender. For the past three years, the unlikely pair of partners and friends had toiled to make a name for themselves in wizarding society’s exclusive fashion industry and had finally opened their very own shop only that autumn – called _Elle_ for their shared initial and their focus on women’s fashion. So far, Ginny was their biggest name client, and they meant to make the most of her. Especially tonight. All those society biddies and nouveau riche mingling and each wanting to stand out. They could not ask for better exposure.

 “How can anyone complain about a gown taken right out of the 1920s? If anything, you are ultra-traditional.”

 Ginny sniggered. “That’s one way of thinking about it, Luna.” She did love the gown and Luna and Lavender had an instinctive feel for what would look best with her colouring and figure. They had chosen a 1924 pattern from Madeleine Vionnet for their inspiration, modifying and updating the style to make it their own, redoing beadwork to form patterns of owls, which shimmered under candlelight, and adding a sheer cape to the back of the dress. Pale blue and gauzy, the gown draped just right on Ginny’s lean frame, making the most of her Quidditch tone, and hinting at naughtiness. The material looked translucent in certain light, but it revealed nothing. It was slinky and beautiful and took Ginny’s breath. She only hoped that she did justice to her friends’ work.

 Perhaps Luna was right about the bandeau, she thought, after all. She did not need any other accessory beyond the bandeau and her engagement ring. She said so to Luna, who agreed, and smiled.

 Ginny held her left hand against her chest, fingering the intricate beadwork and admiring how each bead caught the reflection of her diamond. A simple solitaire. Lily Potter’s ring, which Harry had found among Sirius’s belongings when he had gone to live at Grimmauld after the war. Secured in a spelled puzzle box which answered only to Harry’s voice. He’d carried the ring around with him for weeks before finally blurting out his proposal when she had stumbled upon the box in his cloak. His words had been hurried, awkward as Harry usually was in romantic gestures. There had been no bended knee or wine or fine dinner or any of the things she had once dreamed of as a girl. But his eyes had gleamed and her hands trembled in accepting the ring. Harry had slid it onto her finger, confident once again, as he was always confident in her, as though they had always been coming to this point, since Ron had brought him home, since the Chamber, since Hogwarts.

 His mother’s ring. It was Harry’s single sacred relic and the fact that he had presented the bauble to her without hesitation or any doubt made her own insecurity fade to nothing more than a dull twinge. It was more romantic than any grand gesture could be. Still, the sight of it against the shimmering material of her gown recalled those insecurities she tried to squash or ignore. How could she (or any woman) ever live up to the image of Lily Potter?

 Luna seemed to guess her thoughts, complimenting, “Harry will be so proud.”

 “I hope so,” she murmured. It was exactly the sort of gown she had imagined wearing as Harry’s date one day – dreaming of going to a ball or any event on his arm, swirling waltzes across the room and Harry’s eyes only for her. When she was a girl. And naïve. And Harry had only been an abstract concept. An ideal. She wanted him to be as proud of her as she had always been of him.

 “This is it,” Lavender said, shaking Ginny from her thoughts. “We are going to rule the world tonight,” she laughed and twirled around in her own beaded lavender gown, a revised Edwardian style for which she was known.

 Luna giggled. She studied her own appearance in the mirror, choosing a more modern look, rooted in the 1950s – a fitted white bodice with hand-embroidered black roses around the waistline and trailing to the growing mound of black roses along the hem of her sheath skirt and matching the flurry of roses on her fluffy, full half-skirt attached to the back on her dress, creating the illusion of a fluffy, flowing train made of roses. Each small rose winkedlike an eye, blinking quickly and all out of sync, so that the gown appeared to glimmer without any the aid of sequins or crystals or beadwork. It was unsettling and entirely Luna.

 “If Rolf doesn’t drop to his knees in worship at the sight of you,” Lavender said, “then he is a right ninny and I’ll hex him.”

 If it has been anyone else, Ginny would have expected an eye roll at this pronouncement, but Luna was not given to eye rolls, though she did purse her lips in annoyance. Her voice lost some of the dreamy tone she habitually carried, “I hardly care what Rolf does anymore.” Her sigh was more frustration than wistfulness.

 Lavender gave her a disbelieving sidelong glance.

 “Really, I don’t,” Luna persisted. “It’s been nearly a year.”

 “Yes, but don’t you _want_ him to be pining for you? I know I would.”

 “Lav, I don’t care. I don’t even know if he will be there – for all I know, he is still in Peru with his father.”

 Lavender began to say something, but Luna interrupted, “I don’t want to talk about it.” She forced herself to smile and turned back to the mirror to style her hair.

 “Well then,” Lavender said, “be my date.”

 “Thanks, Lav, but no.”

 “I thought Theo was your date,” Ginny replied.

 Lavender rolled her eyes, “But you _know_ what he’s like.”

 “Then why did you agree?”

 “Have you _seen_ Theo in dress robes?”

 Luna laughed. “Don’t you think Theo would mind if you ditched him for me?”

 “Oh I’m not going to ditch him,” Lavender explained, “I’m just fairly certain that I’ll lose him along the way.”

 “Anyway, who’s to say that I don’t have a date?” Luna said a little too airily. Ginny appeared somewhat stunned, as Luna had been vocal in her shunning of the opposite sex since Rolf’s infidelity.

 As Luna did not appear to want to elaborate at the moment, Ginny thought it wise to change the subject. “That is certainly an interesting dating philosophy, Lavender,” Ginny commented with some amusement.

 “Says the witch who has been off the market for years.”

 Ginny rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why you don’t just give in, Lav. Anyone with half a brain can see that you fancy one another.”

 “Yes, Ginny, and I know what Theo is like. As soon as I _really_ go out with him, he will be bored and I like this pseudo-flirtation thing we have going.”

 “Plus, you know, he is our silent business partner,” Luna said.

 Ginny stared at them. “When did this happen?”

 The two girls looked at one another. “We needed the capital,” Lavender explained, “and Theo offered.”

 “Don’t worry, Gin,” Luna said, “we’ve got a contract, a solid one.”

 “Percy looked over the terms for us,” Lavender said, “after he lectured us for going into business with a Nott.”

 Ginny almost answered, as he should, but then she was going to be Malfoy’s teammate and that seemed at least as bad from a Gryffindor standpoint. “As long as you have protected yourselves.”

 “Speaking of snarky Slytherin gits,” Lavender said slyly, “how is Harry taking the news of your trade to Wimbourne?”

 Ginny shrugged. “There’s not much he can do about it, is there?”

 “No, but he can complain,” Lavender replied.

 “Which he does in spades,” Luna finished. “I saw him in Diagon Alley yesterday. _The Daily Prophet_ ’s Quidditch reporter had been pestering him for a comment.”

 “Bet he was thrilled with that.”

 Ginny nodded. “I heard all about it last night. I love Harry dearly, but you would think that he would be used to media attention by now.”

 Lavender and Luna exchanged glances. “I don’t think it was the media attention that so rankled him,” Lavender said.

 Ginny frowned.

 “Malfoy has a reputation,” her friend explained.

 “Merlin’s beard,” was Ginny’s only reply. She could only imagine. Nothing or no one short of Voldemort himself could needle Harry more than a Malfoy.

 “He was named _Witch Weekly_ ’s sexiest wizard alive,” Luna added unhelpfully.

 “I fail to see what that has to do with anything.” Ginny snorted. “Who comes up with this stuff?”

 “Ginny!” Lavender exclaimed, “Even you have to admit that Malfoy is quite fit these days.”

 “I don’t have to admit anything.”

 “Well, I’ll admit it,” Luna chimed in, “he is quite the sexy devil.”

 Ginny let out a shock of giggles. “Luna!”

 “What?” she said. “I’m not one to deny the truth.”

 “Or a handsome wizard,” Lavender said wryly.

 “That too.” Luna turned back to the mirror and played with the colour of her lipstick, lightening the shade of red just slightly. “Life is too short to deny yourself some fun.”

 Fun and Malfoy? _That_ didn’t sound right at all. “The only fun I’ll be having with Malfoy is laughing when he takes a Bludger wrong in practice.”

 “Admirable team spirit there, Gin,” said Lavender with some amusement. “I can think of a dozen other ways to have fun with Malfoy.”

 Ginny wrinkled her nose. “Ew, Lav – just ew.” She shook her head, though the image of Malfoy all sweaty and breathless, mud splattered about his trousers, did seem worrisomely tantalising. And wrong. Yes, wrong, definitely that. She cleared her throat and held out her left hand, wriggling her ring in front of Lavender.

 “Doesn’t hurt to look as long as you don’t touch,” was Lavender’s response.

 “In fact,” Luna informed her, “looking is a must. I expect a full report of any goings-on in the locker room.”

 “Luna! What do you think goes on in the locker room?” Ginny laughed.

 She sighed. “Probably not as much as goes on in my imagination.” She flashed a dreamy and naughty smile at Ginny. “But if you see a naked arse or two in the persuasion of a Malfoy or Fitzwilliam feel free to fully report your findings to us.”

 “Or, you know, any other naked male bits you may glimpse,” Lavender added.

 Ginny swatted her friends with her cape. “Pervs,” she accused, laughing. Lavender caught the end of Ginny’s cape and pushed her back playfully, and the three fell together in a pile of giggles.

 George took that moment to make his presence known, clearing his throat in an exaggerated manner and leaning against the open doorway of the dressing room.

 “George!” Ginny exclaimed. “How long have you been standing there?”

 “Long enough to hear you perving on Malfoy,” he said distastefully, though his smile belied the tone of his voice. He stepped forward, holding an arm out in their general direction.

 “What if we had been dressing?” Ginny asked.

 “Do you normally dress with an open shop door? Why, Ginbug, quite the exhibitionist you’ve become.”

 His sister rolled her eyes.

 Luna smiled brilliantly at him, and suddenly Ginny noticed that George’s eyes had never strayed from her friend. He would have hardly noticed anyone else. Ginny had never seen him so open in his admiration for any witch and the smile which he gave Luna made Ginny feel as though she and Lavender had intruded upon an intimate moment. Luna took his arm and allowed him to help her from the floor. “Don’t worry, love,” she said, “you are the only wizard that I am currently perving on.” Her voice was soft, though she had not attempted to conceal her words from her friends.

 “I am glad to hear it,” was George’s uncharacteristically genuine reply.

 Lavender winked at Ginny and the two scrambled from the floor, helping to smooth their gowns before turning back to George and Luna. “So I take it that George is the reason you turned down my offer?” she teased.

 “No, I always turn down lewd offers.”

 “Lewd?” George questioned, intrigued.

 Luna laughed at his sparkling expression. “Well, I turn down lewd offers by anyone not named George Weasley.”

 “That’s my girl,” he replied and kissed her cheek, “because I plan on making you a few lewd offers this evening, my looney.”

 “Promise?”

 Ginny made gagging noises at their obvious flirtation. “When did Luna become your girl, George?”

 “A few weeks, maybe more,” Luna answered.

 “They have lunch together nearly every day,” Lavender informed her. “Fred and I like to show up and mock them.” She made teasing kissy faces at the pair.

 “I am so out of the loop,” Ginny complained.

 “Yes, you are, sis.” George tugged at Ginny’s hair, earning him a smack and frown.

 “Don’t make me hex you,” she warned. “I’m about to meet Harry and I don’t want to be late.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

When Ginny Apparated home, she found Harry already there, lounging on her sofa in his dress robes and thumbing lazily through a Quidditch magazine. He glanced up at her “pop,” his spikey hair falling into his eyes, which seemed so much darker in the dim light of the room. He did not say anything at first, nor did he rise from his seat, staring intently at her figure in a way that was disconcerting and almost thrilling. She had not seen that look in a very long time and Ginny could feel the flush starting to creep. It had been too long since Harry had made her flush.

 “Ginny,” he murmured, and slowly moved towards her.

 They hardly seen one another in weeks. Harry’s position as a top Auror sent him away for lengths of time and his schedule was often at odds with her own career. The last time they had spent any quality time together, she had been huddled in a dark corner of her bedroom, protesting any light or sound. She could hardly bear to even breathe his cologne. Harry had panicked even with the reassurances of her Mediwitch and Molly and demanded she retire. A fight in hushed tones had ensued.

 Harry had returned to thinking of her as a fragile creature under his protection. She understood his worry even as she chafed against it.

 There had been apologies in the days that followed, of course. There always were, even if the apologies were not sincere at first. Ginny’s parents had long drilled into her the importance of making amends and so she often found herself giving into Harry, and swallowing her own wishes, though this, Quidditch, she could not give up. Quidditch was hers. The only thing that was really hers.

 Harry’s mission to Bulgaria had been a thorn and a blessing in disguise. Even after his return, their time had been limited to dinners, fleeting touches at night, and somewhat stilted conversation. Quidditch had become an avoided topic. When her agent had informed her of the trade to Wimbourne, she had handed the letter to Harry wordlessly, her brow lifted in defiance and dared him to object with her stare.

 He had whinged about Wimbourne’s penchant for physicality, and about Malfoy, of course, but he rarely went further than whinging. Since her accident, Harry had been reluctant to test her temper as he seemed to think that too much stress or an argument would cause her to relapse into dark, cool rooms and incapacitating headaches.

 But there were to be no arguments tonight. She was determined. For the first time in weeks, she felt strong and fit, no dizziness or queasiness or head throbs. She wanted to enjoy Harry, just to be with him, mingling with friends, and coaxing him to dance with her. To get back to the way things were before her accident, even before their engagement and all the expectations that entailed.

 “Ginny,” he repeated, grinning shamelessly as she struck a provocative pose for him. “My girl,” he said, pulling her to him and twirling her about her small parlour, “will be the most beautiful witch at the ball.”

 She laughed and pinked again. Harry so rarely gave these compliments that she felt like that awestruck ten-year-old when he did. Not that Harry was, by any means, neglectful. He was just Harry.

 She kissed him briefly, but allowed the tip of her tongue to run across the seam of his mouth, promising more later. “We should go,” she murmured against his mouth.

 He made a small noise of protest, pressing her closer. “Yes,” he replied, drawing her into a deeper kiss. “We should.” Harry stilled at her moan, taking it for proof of weakness. He pulled away slightly and ran his hands up her arms. “Are you sure you are well enough, Gin?”

 She sighed. “Yes, Harry, I am sure.” His eyes roamed her face looking for other signs of weakness. “Really, I am fine, Harry. I’ve even been cleared for trade, remember?”

 His brow furrowed at that reminder. “We can skip the red carpet.”

 “That is not necessary.”

 “But you don’t even like the red carpet,” he reasoned, “and I don’t either.”

 “We may not,” she replied, “but people expect us. Luna and Lavender expect me. They are relying on press from this event. I’m not going to skip the most photographed part of the evening.”

 “I understand that, Gin, but the flashing bulbs –”

 “Are not going to bother me.”

 “You don’t know that.”

 Ginny took a deep breath and a few steps away from him. “Harry, sweetie, dear, love, if you don’t stop hovering, _you_ are going to cause me a headache.”

 He winced. “Sorry.”

 “Now let’s go,” she said, grabbing her purse and their wands.

 

* * *

* * *

  

Ginny’s press smile was stiff and formal. She had not yet mastered the convincingly fake smile expected of society’s darlings. Red carpets were always a blur for her, the succession of flashbulbs and constant calls for attention from competing sides of the carpet and competing publications. One had to be careful not to show too much preference for a single reporter, especially with politically tinged events such as the Ministry Ball. Objective in her approach and gracious to all – that was her role at Harry’s side. For tonight, she was the future Mrs. Harry Potter more so than Ginny Weasley, new Chaser for the Wimbourne Wasps. Though reporters were likely to question the latter, they would focus on the former, demanding details of a wedding yet to be planned.

 “Harry Potter! Ginny Weasley!” Ginny could hardly tell which way to turn. The Aurors’ Division public relations expert, Miles Taylor, guided the couple through, pointing out the expedient and more diplomatically valuable publications to greet on the way to the entrance.

 “Yes, we are very happy,” she heard herself say, even as she pulled off a glove to allow _Page Six_ and the _Tattler_ to glimpse her ring.

 To her great surprise, Harry had decided to be politically astute enough to bring her ringed hand to his lips for a chivalrous kiss. Ginny flushed for an entirely different reason. If Ron had been present, he would have mocked Harry for that, but Ginny could only smile tightly and count the steps to the entrance. She hated a display and Harry knew that. He usually hated displays as well.

 People wanted to see Harry and Ginny together and happy – as evidence that the war could be got over, and that the world was moving on. The Ministry had little compunction in exploiting its connection to Harry Potter and demanding his presence and his fiancé at benefits and balls. And Ginny obliged when she could – which was more often than she sometimes liked.

 Except that sometimes it was fun to be pampered and adored and to wear beautiful robes and to see Harry looking at her so proudly.

 She had not, of course, presumed to be that example of connubial felicity of her childhood dreams. But she had been happy and content, if faith in her partner and some confidence in the direction of her career could be an adequate foundation for happiness. At any rate, it was a kind of happiness, if she did not look too closely into the details – or rather, her reluctance to do so allowed Ginny to ignore the minor dissatisfactions which crept up more and more frequently since her engagement. If, sometimes, she felt restless and disappointed, she quickly turned such thoughts aside. Ginny Weasley was not a malcontent, whatever the events of her first year at Hogwarts might otherwise portray. She had been fortunate, and knew her good fortune in a set of parents and brothers relatively intact from the war, in the love of their world’s hero, and in her dreamed-of career. And to most, her happiness seemed a complete, perfect thing.

 She was, indeed, a creature of happiness and so believed that other witches and wizards (and Muggles) must be so as well. In this philosophy, she was well-suited to her fiancé Harry Potter. His harsh early years had trained him to believe that happiness may be found in any situation. They believed, and Ginny often said, that a person must make their own happiness. In this, she resembled her brothers Fred and George and her father Arthur.

 This was not to say that Ginny was blissful or even willfully ignorant of the more sordid aspects of the world. Her experience with Tom Riddle and the war certainly dispelled her of any claim to naïveté or innocence.

 And so, she believed that she was happy.

 The larger world certainly believed in that happiness, and held Ginny and Harry to that idyllic standard of great fairytale romances – followed in Wizarding Britain as Prince William and Kate Middleton were followed in the larger world. Harry was, and had always been, their prince – and since he loved Ginny, she was their princess-to-be. They loved the look of them together – her reddish hair like burnt copper against his darker hair and emerald eyes – and they featured frequently in the press and tabloids. They wanted the Cinderella story played out before them.

 Not that Ginny minded.

 Generally – even if Harry did.

 The thing was – she understood. She’d been on the other side, dreaming of Harry Potter as her own personal knight-errant. He represented a better world, and he was still that to her – even if he was oblivious to this particular role. She knew her role. The world wanted her to be elegant and beautiful by his side. To wear beautiful robes and to smile at Harry as though he were the only wizard alive. It was easy to oblige and to be loved by them as they loved Harry. They did not require, nor did they expect, that she had (or wanted) a life outside of Harry.

 And that was okay. Because she had seen the world without Harry, had persevered through a year-long break-up that saw her labeled as the Girl Who Broke Harry’s Heart and other viler names – though it had never been that way. She had been built up and cut down by all the Wizarding World, had even the events of her first year somehow displayed in the _Tattler_ , and wondered at all the wizards who shied away from dating her. But there had never been a heartbreak. They simply wanted a break. She had not expected the press to turn on her.

 Instead, she lost herself in the beginnings of her Quidditch career. Quidditch had always been her haven. Still, she had been _too_ relieved when Harry came back, pleading his mistake and they ended up engaged. The press had forgiven her and society was kinder and time had moved on and they were the darlings of the Wizarding World once again.

 She had learnt that as long as she played her role, the world would not care whether she played Quidditch until the end of her days.

 But it was a little trying at times, and sometimes she felt a little lost to that role – even in the press conferences of the Quidditch season. As soon as she stepped off the pitch, she became the future Mrs. Harry Potter – and sometimes, she wanted a little something for herself.

 “Who are you wearing?” Parvati Patil asked, startling Ginny from her reverie. A photographer stood ready at her side.

 “I’m wearing Elle, Luna Lovegood and Lavender Brown’s new line,” Ginny replied, proudly, as Parvati took notes and requested Ginny to twirl for the full effect.

 “Simply stunning,” Parvati complimented. “The beadwork is amazingly detailed. Is this all hand-sewn?”

 Ginny frowned a little, “A believe, for the most part. Lavender and Luna would know more about the spells involved. I only know that I fell in love with the design the minute I saw the drawing.”

 Parvati smiled. “Lavender refused to tell me a thing, so naturally I expected you to wear their designs, but I never have imagined … Ginny, turn again so that Dennis can capture the cape adequately. My readers will love this!”

 “Thank you,” Ginny replied, obliging. “Lav and Luna should be arriving shortly. They are wearing their own designs as well.”

 “I knew that Lav would be a success when she transfigured our school robes on weekends,” Parvati confessed. “Off the record,” she nodded to Ginny, “I’m giving a dedicated page to their designs in my coverage.”

 “They will be very pleased,” Ginny said.

 “Now, back to business,” Parvati said with a disconcerting air, “where’s the ring?”

 Ginny held out her left hand, pulling her glove off for a moment, obliging even though Dennis had previously taken a picture when Parvati was otherwise occupied.

 “A solitaire?” her erstwhile Gryffindor housemate exclaimed, aghast. “Just a solitaire?”

 Ginny narrowed her eyes and jerked back her hand, pulling her glove back on. “It’s a family heirloom and I think it’s beautiful,” she said stiffly.

 “Of course,” Parvati tittered. “Have you set a date for the wedding?”

 Ginny smiled again, a little more strained, and returned to the answer she had given four other reporters that evening. “We are just enjoying the engagement at the moment. There is time for planning later.” She nudged Harry, disgruntled again that she always had to field these questions, whether she attended in his company or not.

 “Right, Ginny’s just been traded and our schedules are very busy for now. We’ll get to any planning in the offseason,” Harry added, and took Ginny’s arm to steer her away. She nodded to the reporter from _Le Monde Magique_ to whom Harry had been conversing. They posed together for a brief moment before moving further along the carpet.

 She smiled at him gratefully just as a camera flashed, their arms linked, a united front to the Wizarding world. The weight of her diamond seemed so much lighter beneath her long kid gloves. She felt extraordinarily lucky to have had nearly all her dreams come true.

 If the lustre of those dreams had dimmed in its reality, it was not to be wondered at.

 Taylor, the Auror’s PR expert, began to usher them more quickly towards the entrance. The head of Harry’s department had made a point about speaking with the Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt this evening and the start of the evening was the best time, according to Taylor’s scouting. He leaned over to inform them that the Minister was inside and turned Harry and Ginny away from some of the lesser publications.

 Ginny had just returned a greeting from an old school friend when the dull buzzing of the crowd momentarily soared, signaling another “important” arrival. She was momentarily startled by its intensity and glanced back to see who could possibly occasion such a reaction when she heard a few shouts of “Malfoy!” from the opposite end of the carpet. Her heart leapt to her throat and she uncharacteristically clasped Harry’s arm tighter as though to stay his movement. She could see nothing over the raised cameras and taller figures.

 “Let’s go,” Harry urged, pulling her away and glancing down at her with some concern, confusing her curiosity with possible weakness.

 “Right,” she answered, loosening her grip and trying to appear nonchalant and strong. In the corner of her vision, she could just see a white blond head starting to make his way down the red carpet.


	3. Chapter 2: ten minutes ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: The chapter’s title is the title of a song in Rodger’s and Hammerstein’s _Cinderella._ “In my own little corner,” is a song from the same musical. Also, this story is only canon-compliant through the _Half-Blood Prince._ Details of Voldemort’s defeat will be vague in this story, because I simply don’t want to get into it. Essentially, sometime after his seventh year at Hogwarts, Harry defeats Voldemort in somewhat similar fashion to _Deathly Hallows,_ but in my story Fred, Tonks, and Lupin are still alive.
> 
> Also, Lucius Malfoy’s mother was a Fitzwilliam in this story – as in the Fitzwilliams from _Pride and Prejudice_ – though, of course, they are wizards here.
> 
> For excerpts of upcoming chapters, or to see pics of Luna and Lavender's designs, follow me on tumbler (ladyendymion).

# Chapter 2: ten minutes ago 

 

Nice to meet you, where you been?  
I could show you incredible things  
Magic, madness, heaven, sin  
Saw you there and I thought  
Oh my God, look at that face  
You look like my next mistake  
Love’s a game, wanna play?  
~ Taylor Swift, “Blank Space”  
~ Within the “Scandalmongers” world, this song is written and sung by Pansy Parkinson  
  
This is where I have always been coming to.  Since my time began.  And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run. ~ A.S. Byatt, _Possession_

* * *

* * *

 

A heavy, brocade curtain swung closed behind them, muting the shuttering cameras, raised voices, and buzzing crowd behind them.  A footman bowed elegantly before them, offering to take their cloaks and Harry’s gloves.  Ginny handed her beaded matching clutch to a different footman, whose eyes had grown wide in recognition, before he collected himself and turned to his superior.  Though Harry dutifully handed his card to the gentleman standing at the ballroom’s entrance, it was little needed, as the wizard bowed a little too obsequiously for Ginny’s taste before turning to announce the pair.  
  
“The honourable Mr. Harry Potter and Miss Ginevra Weasley.” A few more camera flashes momentarily blinded Ginny as the Ministry’s public relations office snapped pictures of guests as they were announced and entered the ballroom.  
  
The ballroom into which Harry and Ginny entered was quite obviously expanded by magic, since the Ministry building itself had no room with the capacity to host a ball.  Though the Museum of Magic habitually hosted the annual event, a rare lightning storm had taken out the statue of Cerridwen which topped its famous dome and compromised the structure as well as causing water damage.   Emergency measures had been taken, though the Ministry was left with a last minute change of plans, as well as a larger bill for restoration as well as decoration.  Thus, the ball also doubled as a fundraiser for the damaged museum.  Many of the older families, pureblood families whose source of dubious wealth had long since been obscured by time, had offered some of their lesser valuables for silent auction during the evening.  Ever anxious for their own preservation, the Malfoys had been among those families, deigning to donate a few landscape paintings and a Rococo tapestry for auction.  For the museum itself, Lucius Malfoy had donated some half a million galleons as well as a commitment to pay for the restoration of certain statues.  It might have been expected for Lucius himself to attend the event, basking in the glow of his own generosity, Narcissa, beautiful and serene at his side, ever aware of her place as queen of pureblood society.  But, Lucius was politically astute enough to know that while his galleons were always welcome, his presence was not, especially an event celebrating the defeat of a wizard which represented everything for which the Malfoys had stood.  No, no, his handsome, young Quidditch playing son was the image he chose to promote.   
  
The Ball’s organisers had turned the larger conference room of the Ministry’s second floor into a makeshift ballroom.  The decorators hired for the occasion had been at considerable pains to hide any stretch marks with appropriate flowers and candelabra and floating candles, and just a bit of pixie dust to obscure the corners. They had been inspired by Victorian balls, taking their cues from the over-abundance of flora and the string quartet playing a light violin concerto on an elevated platform.  
  
In the old days, such events would have been held at Malfoy Manor or the Zabini estate – whose ballrooms were, even now, the envy of society matrons. A single room of marble floors and columns and crystal chandeliers shuttered for 364 days a year seemed the height of extravagance, but it was a necessity for those old pureblood clans. Ginny’s Aunt Muriel used to weave fairy tales around those celebrated ballrooms, of socials and balls and waltzing with Abraxas Malfoy to the _Blue_ _Danube_. Of flirting and courtships and dancecards. How she thought those days would never die.  
  
There was something beautiful in that old world.  
  
Not even the Museum’s long gallery could compare to the marble floors and columns of Malfoy Manor’s famous ballroom.  
  
Ginny could almost hear Aunt Muriel’s humming as she gazed at thegathering of society’s grand dames.  Many other ladies wore more traditional Victorian-esque dress robes of fitted bodices, which made Ginny briefly doubt her own bold choice.  Wizarding society may have progressed in witches and other magical creatures’ rights in the last several decades, but they lagged behind in formal wear and social niceties.  What may have been daring and new in 1920s Muggle London was truly daring in 21 st century Wizarding London.  Those same society ladies openly gasped at Ginny and Harry’s entrance, though she could hardly discern whether it was Harry’s fame or her robe which made the elder ladies turn their attention.  
  
It flustered Ginny momentarily, for she was still only 22 years old, and she had not been groomed for this sort of attention.  Beyond the formidable wall of Wizarding society’s grand dames, she spied former classmates and other wizards and witches her age, and clenched her teeth in stiff smiles and greetings of those ladies and Ministry officials.  During a lull in greetings, she leaned to whisper in her fiancé’s ear even as she smiled and waved to a few acquaintances. “Ron and Hermione?”  
  
“At her cousin’s wedding,” Harry answered, nodding towards an approaching couple.  
  
“Oh, right.  I’d forgotten.” She paused to greet the Wizengamot judge Ignatius Bruce and his wife Hazel.  
  
“We are quite looking forward to seeing you in Wasp black and gold, Miss Weasley,” said Mrs. Bruce to Ginny’s surprise, for the lady looked rather more proper than most of the Quidditch fans she habitually met.  
  
“I am so glad,” Ginny enthused, shaking the lady’s hand. “I hope that I do honour to the team’s fans.  I have heard so much about their loyalty and enthusiasm.”  
  
The lady smiled benignly, though with a calculating eye. “You’ve been too hidden in the minor leagues, Miss Weasley, where they do not appreciate your skill.  My husband and I were so happy to learn of the trade.  The Chaser line has needed a shot of adrenaline this season.”  
  
Ginny nodded, gratified to be recognised in her own right than as a girlfriend of Harry Potter or sister of Ron Weasley.  
  
“Yes, indeed,” her husband agreed. “Mason was never a right fit for the team and I told Hub Bailey so when he chose him over Gwynne in the draft.  Nonetheless, here we are, and now the team has a real Chaser on their hands.  We saw you play with the Ducks before your injury.  You have quite the arm, Miss Weasley.”  
  
“Thank you, your honour,” Ginny answered, hardly knowing how to respond to his assessment. “I hope that I will be a credit to the organisation.  The Wasps’ legacy is quite something to look up to, and I can hardly believe that I am now a member of the team I followed as a child.”  
  
“Ginny has been jumping to be cleared to play,” Harry added, looking at her again with pride and apprehension warring in his expression.  
  
“I can believe it,” Mrs. Bruce replied. “I played at Hogwarts and I hated to be grounded, especially through no fault of my own.  I hope the league does something about those head shots.”  
  
“Yes, I do too,” Harry agreed firmly.  
  
“In any case,” Bruce added, “she will have two of the most promising Beaters in the English league on her side.”  
  
His wife explained, “We have been season-ticket holders for years, Miss Weasley, and we are looking forward to your debut as a Wasp.  You must be very proud of your fiancé, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“I am always proud of my fiancé,” Harry responded.  
  
“I hope that your tracking ofDeath Eater cells will not keep you away from Miss Weasley’s first match as a Wasp,” Bruce said.  
  
“Yes, I hope,” Harry agreed, with some hesitation, for his schedule rarely allowed him to attend Ginny’s matches in the past, and moreover, he had been somewhat vocal in his hope that the Wasp organisation would gradually integrate her into the system – much to Ginny’s chagrin.  
  
The elder couple then made their excuses as they spied another acquaintance and left Ginny and Harry to their own devices again.  
  
“And what have the Aurors given you as a goal this evening, Harry?” Ginny asked after a moment, for Harry was nearly always charged with one task or another.  
  
“Just a show of solidarity for Kingsley.  He faces opposition in Edmund Macmillan, Ernie’s father.”  
  
“And you are to make it clear where the Auror department stands in this fight, I take it?”  
  
Harry hesitated before replying in the affirmative.  She could tell by his tone that Harry did not support Macmillan. They had been so busy with their separate careers that she had not spoken with him on anything of import in the last few months – especially, the current upheaval in the Ministry of Magic.  Still, she had been fond of Ernie at school, and his father held shares in her old major-junior Quidditch team, the Manchester Mighty Ducks. “Is that so bad? For Macmillan to be Minister, I mean.”  
  
“It is for the Aurors,” he answered. “Macmillan wants to slash the budget, because the war has been over for five years now. But the Dementors and a few Death Eater pocket cells have been restless.”  
  
She nodded, having heard about rumblings in the Highlands and as far away as Siberia. They greeted a pair of Harry’s colleagues, before Ginny continued, “Are you, then, going to stand publicly for Kingsley?”  
  
Harry _never_  stood publicly for politicians, though he did voice opinions on issues. He hated politics, though this obvious distaste never prevented the press or the public from speculating on Harry’s supposed political future.  Harry would always _be_ political, whether he wished to be or not.  His birth and his role in both Voldemort wars ensured his future political life – whether he chose to take up that mantle remained to be seen.  Ginny rather thought that he might one day.  Neither his sense of duty nor his “people saving thing” (as Hermione would say) would allow him to ignore the power and influence that he wielded.  
  
“I am thinking of it,” he admitted, eyeing a few Macmillan associates. “We can discuss this later, though, when there are not so many ears around.” Kingsley waved to them, then, and Harry guided them over. Kingsley was the evening’s official host and the current Minister for Magic.  
  
Just beyond Kingsley’s shoulder, Ginny saw Parvati’s excited wave as she entered, having apparently deemed all the important people arrived and looking about for possible follow-ups.  Ginny turned her attention gratefully to Kingsley and answered his polite inquiries about her family. She had no intention of encouraging Parvati, whose only aim was to elicit a gossip scoop willingly or not, or to twist Ginny’s words into sensationalist copy for her insufferable column.  
  
As it often did, Ginny’s mind wandered during Harry and Kingsley’s conversations of Auror minutiae and training programmes.  Neither Luna nor Lavender had arrived yet, and she had no one to excuse herself to greet at the moment.  Malfoy had been just behind she and Harry on the carpet, but she saw him nowhere now, and chiding herself for the curiosity that sought out that shock of white blond hair.  In the days since her trade, she had been unable to keep herself from seeking out any information, Quidditch or otherwise, on her new teammates – though she had found herself perusing the society pages of which a Malfoy may feature far more often than other sports-related publications.  He was interesting to her in ways that other teammates could not be (given their families’ generational enmity).  She could not imagine being teammates with Malfoy.  
  
Ginny murmured something in acquiescence to Harry and Kingsley, well aware that her inattention was likely noticeable, especially with Harry’s narrowed gaze.  He probably blamed the weakness of her injury.  Nearly everyone did these days – for any lack of attention, or good humour, or blissfulness – as if a single injury was the root cause for every minor or major trouble in her life.  In some ways, it was like the Chamber all over again.  
  
Except this time, she could shrug off Harry’s concern and tell him quite confidently, as a grown witch, “I am fine,” and turn the conversation back to Kingsley.  
  
“I am glad to hear that you are well now, Ginny,” Kingsley said.  His voice was warm and commanding.  It was easy to see why the Aurors favoured the experienced and intimidating Kingsley over the more business-like Macmillan.  “Potter here was impossible to work with when you took that Bludger.”  
  
“Harry is a worrier,” she returned and hoped that was the end of the talk of her injury.  With every mention of her concussion, she could see the worry-lines in Harry’s brow increasing and deepening.  Soon they would be as permanent as his lightning scar.  
  
“Indeed,” Kingsley replied and turned the conversation to the recent annual meeting of the Commonwealth of Aurors in Toronto.  He had every intention of grooming Harry to be his successor.  
  
This subtle dismissal allowed Ginny to return to her people-gazing or for a means of escape to more interesting talk.  She spied Blaise Zabini in a far-off corner, bowing and kissing the hand of a dark-haired witch, smiling naughtily as he rose. The lady laughed and allowed him to pull her away.  Ginny had forgotten how handsome Blaise was, how he flirted and charmed everyone – if he chose to, that is. He had once chosen to charm her out of boredom during detention in her sixth year.  It was a pleasant, if disconcerting, experience that opened her eyes to the possibility of Slytherins being something other than sinister or evil.  
  
She watched as Blaise greeted a few friends, and pulled along the young lady she now recognised as Daphne Greengrass.  They joined Malfoy at the bar, who stood so that Daphne could take his seat. Though she had never personally seen nor been a recipient of such attentions from him, Malfoy could act the gentleman when it suited him.  
  
She had not noticed Malfoy’sentrance, though she had been watching for him.  She could admit that – that she had been watching for him.  Luna was not the only witch to see the truth for what it was.  
  
She and Harry had been swarmed at their own entrance, but as they did not generally move in the same circles as Malfoy nor have the same acquaintances, there had been no occasion or reason for their two parties to talk.  Even after the war and Hogwarts, house rivalries prevailed - as much of Slytherin’s treachery had ingrained a native prejudice against that house. It would have been more extraordinary to talk to Malfoy.  
  
But that did not mean she had not noticed him.  
  
_Everyone_  noticed Malfoy.  
  
Tonight, he wore, like many others, formal dress robes of a vaguely Victorian fashion – tailored black trousers and evening coat, a white vest, white cravat, the points just so and lying neatly on his lapels. Lavender would probably have been able to identify his tailor if only by the line of his coat.  His hair was slicked back once again – as it had been in their early school days, but he wore it well now. It defined his features, less pointed now for having grown into them. He looked quite astonishingly beautiful, as though he had stepped right out of a Renoir painting or an Edith Wharton novel.  
  
If Lavender had asked her then, Ginny would not have been able to deny Malfoy’s attractiveness.   
  
He seemed to feel her eyes on him, or rather, Daphne noticed her stare and alerted Malfoy. He turned then, an eyebrow raised but no sneer and nodded in her general direction. She blushed to be caught, but offered a small wave, feeling foolish for even that gesture.  It seemed silly and schoolgirlish to wave to Malfoy.  If there were a butter dish anywhere in her vicinity, Ginny was certain her elbow would be right in it.  
  
She ought to speak to him.  They would be teammates next week, after all. She was about to excuse herself and make her way to the little Slytherin party, intending to make some effort at small talk, when Harry tugged her arm. She started, having forgotten that he remained beside her, and never noticed that Kingsley had moved away.  


* * *

* * *

  
  
Ginny and Harry made their way to a small corner where Neville and his wife Hannah had retreated, stopping only to take champagne from the circulating waiters.  The Minister had yet to declare the ball formally open, allowing the couple time for chitchatting after the obligatory networking.  Neville had commandeered one of the few cushy sofas, slightly away from the crowd and welcomed his friends to his cozy “Gryffindor corner,” as he put it.  
  
“And Hufflepuff,” his wife added with a smile.  
  
“Hufflepuff and honourary Gryffindor.” Neville kissed her hand.  
  
“Congratulations on becoming Head of Gryffindor, Nev,” Harry said, raising his glass.  
  
“Youngest head of house in two centuries and youngest head of Gryffindor ever,” Hannah informed them, proudly.  
  
Neville flushed.  He would never be used to praise. “Thanks.”  
  
“How is my godson?” Ginny asked.  
  
“Slept through the night for the first time last night,” Hannah replied.  
  
“We took it as a sign that Frankie would be okay with Gran for one evening,” Neville added.  It had been nearly six months since they had been able to join their friends for a evening and the couple wore an identical expression peculiar to new parents – relief, exhaustion, and anxiety.  
  
“I’m afraid that I’ve forgotten how to behave in the company of fully-grown adults,” Hannah confessed.   
  
“If we start cooing inappropriately or falling asleep and drooling, hex us,” Neville said.  
  
“Duly noted,” Ginny laughed.  
  
“I’d rather Harry do the hexing,” Neville teased, “you’re vicious Gin.”  
  
“Haha.  Now, baby pictures,” she demanded.  
  
Hannah pulled a few out of her glove, where she had kept them for safekeeping, explaining that if she had to at least be able to look at Frankie’s sweet face if she wasn’t with him.  
  
“I can’t say that I blame you,” Ginny cooed, “He is a darling.”  All chubby cheeks and dimples, Frankie was a supremely happy baby, laughing in nearly every picture.  He resembled both his parents, though he had Hannah’s fair hair and Neville’s sweet eyes.  Like his father as an infant, Frankie had yet to display many bursts of magic (about which Gran Longbottom worried daily).  
  
“He’s teething,” Neville smiled thinly. “It’s torture – for him and for us.”  
  
Harry and Ginny could only nod in commiseration.  With the growing brood of Weasley grandchildren, they had their fair share of babysitting teething infants.   
  
“That’s a beautiful dress, Ginny,” Hannah changed the subject. “Is this one of Lavender or Luna’s designs?”  
  
Ginny smiled proudly. “A joint effort between them.”  
  
“They have the most creative designs I’ve seen,” Hannah said. “I wanted to see them tonight for I’ve heard from Granny that the Royal Wizarding Theatre plans to run _Cinderella_  in the summer and I think they should submit designs for the costumes.”   
  
“They would be _perfect_  for it,” Ginny enthused.  Hannah’s grandmother was a retired actress and manager of the Royal Wizarding Theatre.  When the theatre had been nearly destroyed during the Second Voldemort War, Wilhelmina Abbott led the effort for its restoration.  She officially “retired” for the second time two years ago, but her influence remained and Madame Abbott often aided in productions through holding auditions and choosing costume and set designs.  If Lavender and Luna managed to win this contract, it would be a boon for their young label.  
  
_Cinderella_ was also Luna’s favourite musical.  
  
Ginny took a cursory look around the room. “I’m sure they should be here somewhere by now.”  She turned back to Hannah. “Is Madame Abbott here?  I didn’t see her when Harry and I arrived.”  
  
“No, Granny is a little under the weather, but I wanted to talk to Luna and Lavender about submitting something before anyone else.  I thought I would put in a good word for them, but I wanted to gauge their interest first.”  
  
“I know Luna would be over the moon,” Ginny said. “Do you know how many times I had to hear ‘In my own Little Corner’ at Hogwarts?”  
  
“I know how many times _I_ had to hear it,” Harry remarked.  
  
“Great,” Hannah replied. “Granny wants _all_ staff to have enthusiasm for the source material.  It makes a difference when the designer knows the history behind the work and with both Lavender and Luna’s interest in vintage fashion, I felt that they would be a perfect fit.”  
  
“Whoever thought Luna and Lavender would go into business together?” Neville wondered after a moment.  That the pair had not been on the best of terms at Hogwarts was an understatement.  Their friendship with Ginny had first brought them together.  As early outcasts in their year, Ginny and Luna had been friends long before Luna befriended Harry’s group.  Although Lavender’s friendship had its origins in her interest in Ron, she became genuinely fond of Ginny and wormed her way into the latter’s affection with much more success than she had Ron.   
  
“Or that Lavender would be dating Theo Nott,” Harry commented, frowning towards the bar.  
  
Ginny turned around to see Lavender laughing at something Theo said and leaning into his arm.  Lavender certainly had an eye for fashion and figures.  Theo looked fantastic in dress robes.  The cut and drape of the fabric suited his habitually sardonic and sometime dour expression.  He almost smiled with Lavender.  
  
“I’m not sure that they are dating,” Ginny replied.  
  
“This is the second event she has attended as his date,” Hannah said.  
  
Ginny raised an eyebrow.  
  
“What?  I read Page Six to Frankie when I put him down for naps.  He likes it.”  
  
Harry looked at Hannah strangely, as though to say “okaay.”  
  
“Well, Lav _says_  that she is just taking advantage of his wealth and how well he looks in dress robes,” Ginny explained.  
  
“That’s not very nice,” Neville said.  
  
“This is Theodore Nott we’re talking about,” Harry offered.  
  
Ginny was too far away to gain Lavender’s attention, but she managed to catch Luna’s eye as she arrived with George a little late.  
  
“ _You_ skipped the red carpet?” Ginny scolded her friend, teasingly, when the couple reached their corner.  
  
“We didn’t intend to,” Luna defended, “but George can be very distracting.”  
  
George appeared rather proud of himself, winking at the lady on his arm.  Now that Ginny could get a closer look, Luna’s elaborate up-do did not seem quite so neatly braided, and she rather hoped that their explanation would go no further.  One could only wonder what would come out of either of their mouths in the most innocent circumstances and Ginny was absolutely certain she did not want to know now.  
  
“George,” Ginny exclaimed, “look at you all grown up in dress robes!”  
  
“I do look good, don’t I?” he preened.  
  
“Of course you do,” she laughed. “I don’t think I’ve seen you dressed up since Ron and Mione’s wedding.”  
  
“Can’t let a pretty girl down, can I?” George said, his eyes hardly straying from Luna as she greeted the others, and his hand resting naturally at the small of her back.  Their rapport was easy and though the idea of them was new to Ginny, she wondered that she had not seen it before.  They were just zany enough for one another.  Except it went beyond zaniness.  It was ephemeral, this connection, like Ron and Hermione, like her parents.  Like it was supposed to be.  George is going to marry her one day, Ginny thought.  
  
That’s the way it was for some people, wasn’t it?   
  
For some people.  
  
Harry had been asking after Fred and the joke shop while Ginny’s mind had drawn lazy comparative circles around all the relationships she knew, just dancing around a recognition she been pushing, pushing back, compartmentalising as she had been taught.  What you want to hide, protect – even from yourself.  She envisioned the door slamming shut and drawing her back into the cosiness of their Gryffindor corner.  
  
They had been talking of Fred, hadn’t they?  Why he hadn’t come.  
  
“The puff creams went a bit wrong and Fred has an extra nose at the moment,” Luna said.  
  
“They were supposed to give him a bloody nose, not an extra one,”George explained. “Mum said she wouldn’t be able to hold her head up if Fred went to the ball with an extra nose.”   
  
“I doubt Fred very much minded,” Neville laughed.  
  
And because Ginny lived in a very strange family, this explanation was not so unusual and did not provoke any shock whatsoever.  Giggles and smiling – that always seem to follow the twins – as well as the obligatory, “Poor Fred,” or just the exasperated “Fred.”  


* * *

* * *

  
  
Though she knew that she should have, Ginny did not listen to Kingsley’s opening speech.  This most political of all non-political events in the Ministry calendar was always a prime opportunity for the reigning Minister to remind the public of their platform.  Though perhaps more charismatic than other former Ministers and more willing to use subtler methods, Kingsley was very aware of the symbolic power behind the commemoration of Grindelwald’s defeat.  Furthermore, he knew how to use it.  This was not Ginny’s first time on the merry-go-round of Ministry events and machinations.  It was not even her first time at the Ministry Ball.  She knew how it worked.  
  
She could feign the skill of listening with the best of them and it had nothing to do with her increased media exposure.  Tuning someone out was an earned skill in the chaotic Weasley household.  And, she was tired of speeches.  Ginny could probably recite the major talking points in her sleep without having heard a word … celebrate the end of civil war and a new era of civil peace … be vigilant against injustices and mindful of those historically disenfranchised within our society.  Let us take care that a Dark Lord may never rise again.  
  
Doubtless, the speech was apt and beautiful.  It always was.  Except, the speeches rarely differed in their content, even if they were executed correctly and with the appropriate mix of pride and humility.  The world was still healing; continuity and strength were the way forward.  Let us never backslide.  She’d heard that so often that it hardly held meaning anymore.  
  
Still, there was applause, and if the Old Guard of the Haut-Ton were cautious in the embrace of anything Muggle, they were at least enthusiastic in retaining what privileges remained to their set, and knew that the way forwards was casual acceptance of Muggleborns.  They knew the power of appearance.  Ginny could see complacency settle over those elite members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.  Let the public have their rhetoric; it was a small concession.  
  
Ginny’s gaze slid towards the corner occupied by Malfoy and his friends, which she had already dubbed the Slytherin corner in her mind.  She had not yet rid herself of the instinct to gauge Slytherin reaction to anything regarding status or purity of blood.  Though she was too far away to see Malfoy’s expression, she noted the laconic applause, hands clapping with just the right amount of polite acceptance.  Theo and Lavender joined his group then, drawing his cursory attention away from the Minister.  
  
She was still watching the small group, when Harry took her champagne flute, passing it off to a waiter and catching her hand.  He’d promised her a dance even when he hated dancing, and she appreciated his effort.  He braved even the opening waltz.  
  
Harry was still rubbish at the waltz, though, to his credit, he never faltered when the crowded divided around them on the dance floor.  The crowd always seemed to part for Harry, their very own Moses – even when they disliked _him_.  It used to be marvellous to Ginny.   
  
His arms were around her, guiding her into the figures of the waltz, a little off-time.  Always a little off-time.  Why should he care whether he could waltz?  It wasn’t a necessary skill for a hero.  Why should _she_ care?  
  
George made just as awkward a figure as Harry, though his George-ishness allowed him to carry it off.  Not that Luna had even noticed.  She was off again in her own little world, drawing George with her.  Radiant, all the winking roses on her dress reflected Luna’s giddiness.  When she and Harry passed them, Ginny heard Luna singing to George, “In my own little corner of my own little world, I can be whatever I want to be.”  Of course she would.  Luna was still riding high on the news of _Cinderella_.  
  
Perhaps Ginny had been that way once, but she couldn’t remember.   
  
Dancing should be like flying.  Ginny should feel weightless and not the tread of Harry’s toes.  Merlin, she loved him for his flush in that moment.  That he could be at all embarrassed for _her_ when he couldn’t care about _them_.  Because she mattered to him.  It still amazed her.  


* * *

* * *

  
  
Ginny met Blaise later at the bar as she ordered another glass of wine.  Harry had obliged Luna’s request to dance after George had begged a break.  Luna loved dancing almost as much as she did fashion and her energy could be frenetic in such occasions.  It made her prolific as a designer and exhausting as a dance partner.  Harry was currently trying to keep up with her special take on the waltz, and trying carefully not to tread on her full train.  On the dance floor Lavender and Theo were still trying to pretend that they were not a couple.  
  
Ginny took the chance to steal a moment to herself, enjoying the scene, and nursing a glass of wine.  Blaise been sent by Daphne to fetch another drink and could not resist flirting with Ginny.  Flirting with her had been a favourite past-time during his sixth year at Hogwarts, even if she had only been aware of the flirting once during a detention.  Blaise had always been a hair puller and Ginny had always been quick to assume antagonism where Slytherins were concerned.  This time Ginny obliged him, though she maneuvered them surreptitiously to block Rita Skeeter’s view.  
  
He took her hand, smirking, “Are we hiding from a jealous lover?”  
  
“Blaise, you know that I am an engaged witch,” she chided, pulling her hand away.  
  
“And therein lies at least part of your attraction.  Beyond your obvious beauty, of course.”  
  
“Oh?” she asked, curious as to his direction.  
  
Blaise’s grin was entirely wicked. “Since you are already taken, I may be as bold as I please without you taking me seriously.” He kissed the back of her hand.  
  
“Not too bold.” She eyed him warily. “That is an interesting philosophy, Mr. Zabini.  And if I did take you seriously?”  
  
“That, my love, we’ll never know, will we?”  
  
“That was so smarmy!” Ginny exclaimed,“Does it ever work?”  
  
“Miss Weasley, I am entirely insulted.  Also,” he paused and nodded towards Daphne, “Daphne would have my bits cut off if it did work.”  
  
Ginny laughed.  
  
“Care to come over to the dark side?” he asked, gesturing towards the corner where Malfoy and Daphne were conversing.  She considered for a moment and wondered about Blaise’s motive for friendliness that went beyond flirting.  Though he had never been stingy with his charm, inviting any object of his charm into his sanctuary of Slytherin was not very Blaise-like – at least as she had known him at school.  She was curious.  
  
Somehow Ginny had been watching Malfoy all evening without meaning to.  And she had meant to speak with him, hadn’t she?  If only to break the ice and to make her first practice as a Wasp a little less awkward.  After all, he was her captain now.  Being a teammate would be strange enough without adding schoolyard hostility to the mix.  She had to grow accustomed to being on friendly terms with Malfoy.   
  
Ginny had not seen Malfoy often since school and then only at formal occasions and the few times she had played against him in Quidditch.  He had not remained with the Baby Wasps very long, as Wimbourne’s farm team were called.  Unfortunately, and for various reasons out of her control, Ginny had stayed with the Montrose Magpies’ farm team much longer.   
  
But this, this was strange.  To be on Malfoy’s side.  It made her nervous.  
  
She had been both a frequent object of his ridicule (general and particular) and of his “gallantry” once at school in her sixth year.  Malfoy had discovered her hiding from Alecto Carrow in a corridor.  He’d been a prefect and could have turned her in.  It would have won him points for Slytherin and for himself.  _Everyone_ knew that the Malfoys were on the outs with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back then – for Lucius failure and for Draco’s failure to kill Dumbledore.  Except he didn’t turn her in.  
  
Malfoy had not even said a word to her in the corridor, but he had turned away and made an excuse of unruly students in the third floor corridor, calling Alecto’s attention away. It was an unlikely gesture from him, and he would not have done so if Alecto had been any closer or if his Occlumency were any weaker.  Ginny did not rightly understand why that moment still stood out so vividly during her hellish sixth year, except that it had given her hope.  That it should have been Malfoy moved her inexpressively.  
  
Something had shifted inside of her then, and she could not think of that day without some sense of aching.  They should have still been innocent then, but the war had taken that from them all.  She had seen her own uncertainty and sadness in his features. They had both lived with Voldemort in different ways.  He’d invaded her mind and Malfoy’s home.   
  
“Coming Weasley?” Blaise asked, shaking her out of her reverie.  She’d been staring again.  That was unlike her.  Perhaps her concussion had more lingering symptoms that she had been willing to admit.  At least Blaise didn’t appear to see anything strange in her manner and led her through the crowded bar area to the “Slytherin corner.”  
  
Daphne met them half-way. “Thank you, darling,” she thanked Blaise with a kiss on the cheek and took a glass of champagne. “I wondered what kept you, but now I see, naughty boy.” She greeted Ginny in a breezy manner that suggested more familiarity than there actually was.  They had only been somewhat friendly acquaintances in school. “I’m just drowning in testosterone over there,” Daphne confided.  
  
She then turned back to Blaise. “We better get back to the princess, Blaise. He’s been huffy ever since someone asked him to autograph Pansy’s new record.”  
  
“Draco is Pansy’s muse,” Blaise explained, smirking, though Ginny hadn’t asked.  Both Blaise’s and Daphne’s eyes gleamed.  Evidently, Pansy’s notorious “blind item” love songs were a source of amusement in their circle.  
  
Ginny smiled. “Oh, so _Rolling in the Deep_  is –”  
  
“About Draco, yes,” Daphne interrupted. “He is so ungrateful. I would love to have a song written about me, even if the lyrics are less-than-kind.”  
  
Ginny laughed, somehow surprised that Malfoy could be an object of fun amongst his own friends.   
  
“I found Blaise,” Daphne announced when they joined Malfoy. “He’s been picking up Harry Potter’s fiancé.” Malfoy looked up at this admission, quirking an eyebrow in Blaise’s direction before settling his gaze on Ginny.  Stone grey and blue, his expression was haughty.  And mischievous, she wouldn’t know it now, but mischievous.  
  
“Draco, do you remember Ginny Weasley?” Daphne asked.  
  
“Yes,” he said, standing up and taking a step in her direction.  His voice dropped an octave, which Daphne noted with some interest as the tone he employed when placating witches at society functions. “The creator of the impressive Bat Bogey Hex cannot be so easily forgotten.”  She was a little surprised that he should even mention that incident in front of anyone else.   
  
Ginny smiled politely and held out her hand. “Malfoy, I’m glad to have made such an impression.” He took her hand.  Like most of the younger set of attendees, he’d lost his gloves somewhere that evening and she felt the roughness caused by Quidditch.  Smirking, he kissed the back of her hand in a charming manner more suited to the drawing rooms of the Haut-Ton.  Though she had been kissed by others in a like manner that evening, he discomfited her and she stiffened and pulled away too quickly.  Ginny felt wrong-footed around his suave manner, which seemed, above all, filled with artifice.    
  
His smirk widened and she hated that she’d given him her anxiousness.  He would use that.  Even if they were now teammates, he would use that, she was absolutely certain.    He seemed the same, only a little older, with a little more polish, and if possible, more self-assurance.    
  
She cleared her throat and held her head high. “Maybe not so unforgettable as yourself, Malfoy.   After all, not everyone is the inspiration for angry love songs.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow, but did not otherwise appear annoyed. His smirk never disappeared. “Maybe so,” he muttered, “But I distinctly remember you _composing_  rhymes for your intended. What was it? ‘Your eyes are as green as fresh pickled something.’”  
  
“Funny.  How on earth do you remember that?  You seem to remember a lot of things concerning Harry.”  
  
He rolled his eyes. “Merlin, Weasley, how could anyone forget that?  I bet even Blaise remembers the rhyme.  He was so jealous.”  
  
Blaise did not seem angered by this jab. “I think it was a toad, a pickled toad.”  
  
Thank Merlin Ginny did not flush as easily as she used to.   
  
Daphne interrupted, “I don’t think that you should tease Ginny so, when she just came to say hello.”  
  
“Perhaps not,” Malfoy conceded, smilingly disarmingly. “After all, we are to be teammates.”  
  
“Teammates?” Daphne asked.  
  
“Don’t you ever read the papers, Daph?” Blaise asked.  
  
“Only when I am in it,” she replied, “or you.  If you are in the papers, darling, I always read it.  How else am I to keep tabs on you?”  
  
“True, my dear, very true,” Blaise conceded. “Why else would you read the papers?”  
  
Ginny was fairly certain that Blaise and Daphne were telling the truth, vain as they were.  
  
Malfoy informed Daphne, “Miss Weasley is my new plaything, Daph.”  
  
Ginny narrowed her eyes, “Winger, Malfoy.” She hardly knew what to do with or how to think of this Malfoy.  She wasn’t used to this sort of banter with him.  She could discern disdain, but the insults seemed to be just beneath the surface, waiting to spring out when she was least ready for them.  
  
“Yes, that.” He smirked again, his gaze flickering from her to someone behind her. “Care to dance, Weasley?” he asked, surprising her again.  He held out his hand to her and she’d almost moved to accept out of instinct.  That was her role now.  To dance and be polite at Ministry functions when needed.  Except she didn’t _need_  to be polite to Malfoy.   
  
“Why?”  
  
He leaned towards her as though he were about to divulge a great secret meant only for her ears. “I realise that, as a Weasley, this may be a novel idea for you … but dancing is generally what one does at a ball.”  
  
And there it was – the insult – only now just a little more politely disguised.  
  
For the life of her, she could not think of an answering insult and she wanted to growl or stamp her foot in frustration.  But she did glare. “I see that you have just as much maturity now as you did at seventeen, Malfoy.” At least her voice could drip disdain.  
  
“Still …” His own tone was entirely unrepentant.  He took her hand again, pressing slightly.“Shall we?”  
  
She wondered at his persistency. She would almost believe the earnestness of his expression if he were anyone else but Malfoy.“Only if _Rolling in the Deep_ is playing, Malfoy.”  
  
He glared then and dropped her hand.  She smiled in her brief triumph over Malfoy, making a note that rejection, even if playful, was the key to his discomfiture.  He was not used to hearing anything but an unequivocal “yes” to most of his requests, certainly where witches were concerned.  
  
“Malfoy bothering you, Gin?” Harry asked, resting a hand against her back and startling her.  
  
“Hardly,” she answered, irritated that he had apparently been watching over her and running to her rescue when she did not need to be rescued.  
  
“And here comes Scarhead to save the day,” Malfoy said, sarcastically. “I didn’t realise that you had a keeper as well as a fiancé, Ginny.”  
  
Ginny?  She frowned at his familiarity, and Harry stiffened behind her.  She could practically _feel_  her fiancé’s glare and she supposed that had been Malfoy’s point.  Neither could resist needling the other.  _That_ had not changed.  It was probably the reason Malfoy had asked her to dance so pointedly.  To rile Harry.   
  
“Merlin’s beard,” she muttered and was thankful that Padma Patil joined them then.   
  
“It’s good to see you again, Ginny,” Padma said, greeting Harry as well.  She moved towards Malfoy and placed a possessive hand on his forearm. “I read about your accident.  You are well now, I trust?”  
  
“Yes, much better now, thank you,” Ginny replied, surprised that Padma appeared to be his date.  She could not remember seeing them together that evening and Lavender had never mentioned Malfoy dating her friend.   
  
Padma looked beautiful as always and Ginny was suddenly very glad that Lavender and Luna had persuaded her to wear something daring.  Otherwise, she would have felt very gauche now.  Padma’s white sari with gold trim appeared to glow in the candlelight and she made a striking figure against Malfoy’s paleness.  
  
“My sister was looking for you earlier,” Padma said. “Have you caught her this evening?”  
  
Ginny bit back her own smirk as she had avoided the gossip queen of the _Daily Prophet_  all evening. “I have not had that pleasure – at least since the red carpet.”  
  
“I’m sure,” Padma replied, her attention already turning to Malfoy, who seemed a curiously inattentive date. “As much as I would love to stay here secluded and chat with you all,” Padma announced, trying another tactic. “I am on official duty from your cousin Darcy, love.” She held out her hand to Malfoy, who took it casually. “It seems your aunt Lady Catherine has made an appearance.”  
  
Now that Padma had his attention, the somewhat playful and easy smirk which Malfoy had been sporting all evening disappeared into one of annoyance. “And if Darcy has to suffer, he will make us all suffer too,” Malfoy mumbled.  
  
“That is the general idea,” Padma replied.  
  
Malfoy offered Padma his arm, but he turned his attention back to Ginny. “See you on the pitch Monday, _Ginny_.”  The way he pronounced her name was wicked.  She knew that Harry had said something in return, but if anyone had asked she could not have recalled a single word.

 

 


	4. Chapter 3: here begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: Sorry this update has been so long in coming. Real life got in the way of any creative writing (fanfiction or otherwise) for a very long time. 
> 
> I own nothing, though I sorely wish that I owned Draco.
> 
> Author explanations:  
>  _en déshabille_ means in a state of partly or carelessly dressed 
> 
> _en tous point_ means in all respects
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at ladyendymion.

_Chapter 3: here begins_

The great moments in your life won’t necessarily be the things you do. They’ll also be the things that happen to you. Now, I’m not saying you can’t take action to affect the outcome of your life. You have to take action. And you will! But never forget, that on any day, you could step out the front door, and your whole life could change forever. You see the Universe has a plan kids; and that plan is always in motion. A butterfly flaps its wings, and it starts to rain. It’s a scary thought, but it’s also kind of wonderful. All these little parts of the machine constantly working … Making sure that you end up exactly where you’re supposed to be … exactly when you’re supposed to be there. The right place. At the right time. ~ How I Met Your Mother, 4.22, “Right Place, Right Time”

 Like a small boat  
On the ocean  
Sending big waves  
Into motion  
Like how a single word  
Can make a heart open  
I might only have one match  
But I can make an explosion

~ Rachel Platten, “Fight Song,” by Pansy Parkinson in this story

 

* * *

* * *

An excerpt from Parvati Patil’s coverage of the Ministry Ball for her column “Page Six,” _The Daily Prophet_

Dear Sixers, the Ministry Ball never disappoints! Whatever our aspirations for gossip opportunities, it never arises in the quarter we expect. 

Case in point: the long-awaited red carpet _d_ _é_ _but_ of an affianced Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley was not the dramatic point of the evening. That came later with the entrance of a certain new couple _en d_ _é_ _shabille_. Though the future Potters did not disappoint, they were nearly usurped by the wholly unexpected and marvellously mad new coupling of George Weasley and Luna Lovegood! We’ll get to that in a moment. 

Firstly, our scoop of everyone’s favourite society darlings, The Boy Who Lived and His Future Missus. The ring! 

As much as I am loathe to admit, I will concede that my previous declaration that a simple diamond solitaire was too pedestrian for the spirited Miss Weasley was entirely wrong. Miss Weasley’s simple platinum princess cut diamond was elegant _en tous point_.  I would hazard a guess that it is a full two carats and the clarity of the diamond – well – Check out our exclusive photographs of the couple, including THE RING! 

The ring is an entirely conventional choice for an engagement ring – at first glance. However, a source close to the couple informs us that the ring, in fact, belonged to Mr. Potter’s late mother, Lily. As in Lily and James Potter, as in one of the most celebrated love stories in modern Wizarding England! Dear readers, I had chills. What a beautiful sentiment and a perfect way to honour Lily Potter’s memory and her sacrifice. 

I confess, Ginny Weasley is a stronger witch than I, for even _I_ would be hesitant to wear the relic and carry all the burden of _that_ legacy. 

Ginny was radiant in her bespoke Elle gown and profuse in praise towards its designers, her friends Lavender Brown and Luna Lovegood. For more on this up and coming fashion house, see our feature on page 10. Harry Potter was suitably dashing in his tails – until he hit the dance floor with his fiancé and tripped all over her poor feet. Thank Merlin. We like the crack of faults in our darlings, do we not? 

In a move which shocked absolutely no one, the ever-press shy future Potters remained reserved. Not a single word regarding wedding plans could be coaxed from the pair, not even a hint of the date. Her closest friends were frustratingly mum as well. Now, if either would do something truly shocking and snog on the dance floor, elope, or even argue once in public. Now that, dear Sixers, I would love to see. As a former housemate of both Harry and Ginny, I know their tempers well. How epic are their rows? As horrible as it sounds, I’d love to witness one. Ginny throws a mean hex after all. 

Speaking of hopeful discord between our Golden Pair, we spied a tension-filled encounter between Harry Potter and the ever-delicious Draco Malfoy. Though we were not close enough to overhear the biting comebacks, we are looking forwards to future encounters. After all, Miss Weasley is now a Wasp. 

A Quidditch colleague, Lee Jordan, informs me that not only is Miss Weasley expected to join the Wimbourne Wasps immediately, but that she may fly on a line with Malfoy himself. A drastic change in lineup and personnel is expected since the break for the All Star Game. But that is enough Quidditch talk for one society evening. We only hope that the trade will result in many rumours and innuendos. 

Whatever the tension between Malfoy and Potter, the sparking fire between the former and the Harry Potter’s fiancé was promising. Ginny Weasley is no shrinking violet, a fact never more evident than her bold teasing of Malfoy’s role as Pansy Parkinson’s erstwhile muse. The displeased glare, the ever-so-arched brow, and ever-famous smirk – classic, glacial Malfoy features. All there. And yet no hexes flung on either side. 

Ginny Weasley’s first match as a Wasp may be one match I’ll actually watch this season! Lee Jordan, owl me! 

Back to the Grindelwald Ball …

 And now we promised to highlight a new couple in the society scene – one sure to provide many hours of amusement in covering their appearances and antics – George Weasley and Luna Lovegood! The jokester king and the zany fashionista could not have been more delicious and we are disappointed that we have never shipped them before! Farewell Georlina, hello Weasel Love! Leorge? Weaselgood? We’ll have to think of an appropriate couple name for them. Suggestions, dear Sixers? 

Take a look through our photographic coverage. We defy you not to fall in love with the pair!

 Sorry for our defection Angelina Johnson; we still love you!

  _Sigh_ _-_ tings:

Theodore Nott and Lavender Brown having a row in a corner. No Wizarding event would be complete without some discord between the maybe pair.

 Lady Catherine de Bourgh gracing the assembly with her ever-useful advice, much to the “pleasure” of her entire family – Darcys, Fitzwilliams, and Malfoys.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Ginny hated it when Parvati began to litter her columns with French phrases. It was unnecessary and signified an onslaught of ruthless coverage. Lavender maintained that Parvati did so to remind the _Daily Prophet_ editor of her former position at the Parisian _Le Monde Magique_ and of her remaining ties to French society and fashion. She was either jockeying for position, a raise; or, her editor felt that she’d grown complacent. Increasing nosiness and sensationalist copy was bound to follow and Ginny was almost certain that she would find Parvati hanging about the Wasp practising pitch. After all, Ginny’s trade went beyond Quidditch circles. Nearly everything involving Harry or Malfoy rippled through the news.

 The use of French also made Parvati sound pretentious, which she often was.

 But Ginny felt more charitable than usual towards her former housemate, for she had raved over Luna and Lavender’s designs, as promised, and featured their gowns in high quality colour photographs. Dennis Creevey was a first rate photographer with an instinct for the right angles and lighting to highlight the best features of his subjects and their fashion.

 He was certainly worth more than the _Daily Prophet_.

 For instance, Luna’s winking ball gown. Dennis snapped the briefest moment when all the eyes of her skirt winked in different stages so that the print version captured the glittering effect without the aid of sequins or jewels. George hung on Luna’s arm in traditional white tie dress robes, elegant but for the naughty look sent her way. And Luna luminescent. His hand dancing across the small of her back. The first flush of love. You could feel it through the print, blush-inducing to have captured an intimate expression.

 Had she and Harry ever looked so?

 Beside them, the photograph of she and Harry could not be more different, if no less genuine. They danced awkwardly across the page, just as Ginny’s solitaire caught the reflection of the rising sun and momentarily blinding both Ginnys. She blinked against the resulting dark spots. Even months after her concussion, her eyes were still sensitive, though she’d never let on to her fiancé, even if it worried her. Harry would take it for weakness. Her photographic self was still making a rude gesture towards the sun by the time that Ginny’s vision cleared enough to return to her reading.

 Beyond the momentary bad behavior of its subjects, this photo was one of her favourites of the evening. She and Harry were awkward, yet comfortable, content. When they were dancing and it was just the two of them. The way Harry looked at her. She hadn’t noticed at the time, but she felt it now, his love. Maybe it was not so evident as George gazing at Luna, but it was real. After so many years, it was real.

 “You’re up early,” Harry mumbled from the doorway. His glasses were slightly askew and his hair sticking up in spikes everywhere. This Harry she loved. He ran a hand absent-mindedly through his hair and fell into a chair by her. This Harry was hers.

 She’d risen early just to catch the delivery of the _Daily Prophet_ and to read it in peace, savouring her morning coffee on the charmed and heated balcony of her flat. The first pale rays of sunshine crawled slowly across the floor, rendering Ginny’s wand light superfluous.

 “Yes,” she replied. “I have practice, remember? In an hour.”

 “So early?”

 She hesitated. “Yes, I have to be cleared.” She wouldn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see how she still squinted though the sun had risen enough so that it shouldn’t blind her. Normal her, anyway. Post-concussion Ginny still winced.

 And Harry was an Auror, trained to notice. He scooted closer, but he did not peer into her face or bring out a wand to check the dilation of her pupils. Thank Merlin. May Morgana curse the Mediwitch who taught him that spell.

 “By a proper Mediwizard or Mediwitch?”

 She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Harry.”

 “A properly trained one?”

 “He’s the team Mediwizard,” she protested.

 “After the incompetence of the Magpie’s team Mediwizard, pardon my lack of confidence in that regard.”

 “Harry, I believe that the Wasps are going to be responsible towards their financial investments. Which I am, a financial investment.”

 “The Magpies weren’t.”

 “The Magpies are a dysfunctional organisation. The entire Quidditch world knows that. It’s why I was stuck so long with their farm team.”

 He didn’t agree with her, his lips still pursed, but he wasn’t going to argue so early in the morning. So, he murmured something like assent and snatched her mug to take a long drink, before reaching over and kissing her cheek.

A peace offering.

She wished he would just trust her. For once, trust her with her own health. Her tone was snippy when she asked, “Why are you up? You don’t have to be in the office for hours.”

He squinted his eyes against the sun, focusing on her. “I wanted to see you before you left. It being your first day and all.”

 Her annoyance deflated, even if she felt that he also wanted to check on her before she left. Still, Ginny smiled prettily and changed the subject. She handed the paper to him, “This is a nice picture, yeah?” She pointed to them dancing.

 “It is,” he agreed, sleep still heavy in his voice. “Page Six? I thought you hated that column.” He frowned, presumably at Parvati’s byline.

 “Well, I do, but I wanted to read it for Luna and Lav’s sakes. Dennis was the photographer this time and he is always good.”

 “Hmmm.”

 She frowned, re-reading a caption that referred to her as the future Mrs. Potter. “I think that I’ll only ever be Mrs. Potter in those pages though.”

 But Harry had fallen asleep. She stood up and brushed a kiss across his brow, just over his scar. He caught her hand as she moved to the door. “Leaving?”

 “I’ve got to get to the pitch.”

 He straightened. “Ginny, if you feel dizzy, or unwell, or if the Mediwizard –”

 “Harry, nothing is going to happen to me. I’m fine now.”

 “But, Ginny –”

 She huffed. She knew that his concern was warranted, but it did not make his hovering any less annoying. “I will owl you, I promise.”

 “Good.” He added, “And watch out for Malfoy.”

 “He’s my teammate!”

 “Yeah, well, Malfoys are never trustworthy.”

 This time she didn’t hide the rolling of her eyes.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Parvati was not lying in wait to capture the arrivals of the new additions to the Wasps, thankfully. Ginny was the first player to arrive at the practice pitch in Weymouth. An attendant waved her through the gate, giving her instructions to the team office where she would find the Mediwizard John Dashwood waiting for her.

 He was polite, professional, clinical, questioning her medical history to check against his file.

 “Tell me about the hit,” he requested as he checked the site of impact just behind her ear.

 “I’d been called up to the Magpies from their farm team the Ducks in a match against Puddlemere United.”

 Dashwood made a noise of disdain. Puddlemere was as notorious for their illegal hits as the Falcons had been once.

 “I was about to pass the Quaffle to Malkin when I was hit here,” her hand hovered near the site, “by a Bludger. I don’t remember anything else.” Beaters were never supposed to aim for the head. Cormac McLaggen, who’d switched from Keeper to Beater at the start of his professional career, had been the culprit. The League fined and suspended him, but Harry was out for blood – a problematic situation given Tiberius McLaggen’s coziness with the Auror Department. Not that Harry cared. He didn’t always think that the rules applied to him.

 “Nothing?”

 “No, nothing.”

 “And were you evaluated for a concussion there?”

 “The next thing I remember was waking up in St. Mungo’s, however, my agent told me that I was only examined once I reached hospital.” Her mother and Harry had been furious when she had been levitated off the pitch without a medical examination, but the Magpies were not known for valuing their junior players over much, even when that junior player was Harry Potter’s fiancé. It infuriated her too. Not that _that_ should matter.

 “Yes, well,” Dashwood said, reaching over to grab his wand, “that is _not_ how we do things in the Wasps organisation.”

 He proceeded to check her reflexes and heartbeat, the dilation of her pupils, and took a blood sample.

 “Any lingering effects from the hit? Nausea? Light sensitivity? Mood swings? Spontaneous bursts of magic?”

 Ginny chewed her lip. She didn’t like confessing to any weakness, but felt far more comfortable with the professional Dashwood than any of her relatives who would use it as an excuse to hover and treat her as a child. “Some light sensitivity. I don’t know about mood swings, as I’ve always had a temper and I don’t like to be babied – which happens with my mother and my fiancé since the injury.”

 He nodded. “I see.”

 “There is also –”

 “Yes?” He paused in checking her vitals, turning his full attention to her as though he recognised both the hesitancy and insecurity in her voice. That too made her falter, for he held the power within him to make a dent in her comeback.

 “Well, a kind of … weakness, sometimes. Not light-headedness, really, but I … get tired more easily now.”

 “Right,” he said, taking notes down in his chart. Each word that he did not say sent Ginny’s nerves haywire. This was her first real chance in the major leagues and she didn’t want the incompetence of the Magpies’ staff to ruin it, couldn’t bear to be a has-been, or rather a never-was. Mrs. Potter and nothing more.

 Her hands were shaking so she hid them beneath her knees, hoping the Mediwizard would not notice and take it for lingering concussion symptoms. When she had first been injured, her hands had shaken so badly she could not hold onto a glass of water or even feed herself.

 “The light sensitivity has gotten so much better,” she volunteered, watching him check the potion into which he had dropped her blood sample and hoping that the blue colour was a good sign. “It’s really only very bright lights or sunlight now – and even then not always.” She added after a moment, “My magic is entirely under control too.”

 “Miss Weasley,” he said, turning back to her, “Your vitals are strong. You are healing nicely and lingering symptoms are not unusual given the severity of your hit. I should think a few more weeks would do it, and if you are still experiencing symptoms then, we will re-evaluate.”

 “A few more weeks?”

 He smiled then. “Do not be disappointed. A few more weeks for symptoms,” he clarified. “I see no reason why you cannot take part in practice.”

 “Thank Merlin.”

 “I am issuing you a caution flag, however. No contact until we see how you do in practice. First, I’d like to see you fly a few laps before practice begins, just to make sure that you do not experience any more vertigo in the air.”

 “Right. I’ll take that.” She nodded gratefully.

 When Ginny closed the door to Dashwood’s office with a promise to meet him on the pitch in half an hour, she sagged against it in relief, closing her eyes. In a fit of childish habit courtesy of her Granny Weasley, she crossed herself. With no one around to observe and comment upon any perceived weakness, she could indulge in her full weight of relief. She spent so much of her time and energy trying to _appear_ strong.

 Until that moment, Ginny wasn’t even sure that she could pass the physical and though she had the somewhat daunting prospect of passing the flying inspection, she felt she could conquer anything. To be told that her symptoms would dissipate after all the weeks of uncertainty and frustration and anger – the silent, darkened rooms and colourless, tasteless potions meant to nourish her when she could not bear the sight or smell of food, debilitating headaches and vertigo that left her crying and wondering if she’d ever be able to resume normal life, let alone a Quidditch career. And the Wasps taking a chance on her.

 Ginny could cry in sheer relief.

 “Just breathe,” she whispered to herself, “one foot in front of the other.” I can do this, she silently added. With one last deep breath, she pushed off the door and started towards the exit.

 Malfoy entered the corridor from the side entrance, almost joining her step. He paused to let her pass. “Morning, Weasley,” he said. Friendly, for him.

 Her pricking nerves were raw, seemed magnetized to him somehow, for she was both drawn to and repelled by that voice, husky with sleepiness. He made her nervous. She knew what to expect from bratty, school-boy Malfoy. The grown-up version was … an unknown entity.

 When she didn’t immediately respond, he arched an eyebrow and smiled. Actually smiled. Giddy with relief and nerves, Ginny could not imagine what he must have seen to spark his amusement.

 Her own responsive “Morning” was slow in coming, said to his back as he passed onto to the coach’s office further down. She doubted that he’d even heard her, certainly hoped he had not heard the breathy quality of her voice that she hardly recognised herself.

 Malfoy stopped with his hand on Coach Edgecombe’s door. “Been cleared for practice yet, Weasley?”

 She cleared her throat. “Yes, pretty much, no contact though.”

 “Good.” He nodded.

 “Ginny,” she said, cringing at her abruptness. Would she never be smooth? “It’s Ginny. Weasley is too weird for me … with all my … brothers,” she added, faltering.

 His smirk widened. “We can’t have that, can we, _Ginny_?” With that, Malfoy disappeared into Edgecombe’s office, leaving Ginny staring after him long after she felt was reasonable.


	5. Chapter 4: the new life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: George Wickham is, of course, borrowed from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Richard Fitzwilliam is too, though you might know him more under the guise of Colonel Fitzwilliam from P&P.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own HP or Jane Austen characters.
> 
> Also, thanks to everyone who read, commented, bookmarked, etc.!

_Chapter 4: the new life_

Your eyes that were once never weary of mine.   
~ William Butler Yeats, “Ephemera”

 

Been losing grip  
Oh, sinking ships  
You showed up just in time  
~ Taylor Swift, “This Love,” by Pansy Parkinson for this story

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

From Lee Jordan’s segment on the Quaffle Report, a Quidditch show on the Wizarding Wireless

 “I am joined today by Lee Jordan, the _Daily Prophet_ ’s senior Quidditch correspondent,” Rufus Micawber said, turning towards his companion. “Thank you joining us, Lee.”

 “I am happy to be here, Rufus,” Lee replied, smiling into the camera.  Besides the Quaffle Report, very few Wireless shows used videography, though it was gaining in popularity since an enterprising young Muggleborn adapted the technology for magical usage.

 “We have been discussing how recent trades may impact the remaining matches of the regular Quidditch season.  I’d like to get your thoughts on the Weasley trade in particular.  It is amazing to me that Bailey would trade Burton for a draft pick and an unproven Chaser with a history of injury.”

 Lee nodded. “I see what you are saying, Rufus, but Ginny Weasley has greater potential and Burton has been on the downslide for the past few seasons.  He’s nearing 45 and I don’t see how he could keep up in the playoffs.”

 “True.  He is nowhere near the stats leader that he was, but … we have little to judge Weasley’s performance.”

 “Really?” Lee scoffed, “Because she was on fire with the Ducks before her injury and her Hogwarts career speaks for itself.  She was second in her draft year, higher than Malfoy.”

 “Malfoy has proven himself in the major league.  I don’t see how you could compare the two.”

 “I’m not comparing them.  They are teammates anyway.”

 “Malfoy was picked third in the European Quidditch Draft, the year before Weasley.”

 Lee smiled. “Careful, Rufus, your fanboy is showing.”

 Rufus grumbled, but took the jab. “I am a Wasp homer, I admit.”

 “Ginny Weasley, though … I firmly believe that she has great untapped potential, which,” Lee made a vague gesture with his hands, “scouts seem to agree with.  I can’t get into details here for confidentiality reasons, but the scouting report which I’ve been privileged to read, outlines her strengths.  She has a great arm and speed, good endurance, she’s tricky …”

 “But she’s unproven.”

 “She is unproven in the sense that she was buried in the Ducks for so long.  The Magpies have a history of undervaluing developing talent and trading away draft picks and prospects in favour of established, if aging, stars.  It’s why they haven’t made it past the first round of League playoffs in six years.”

 “You are not wrong,” Rufus said. “But, the fact remains that she does not have playoff experience and the Wasps are poised to make the playoffs easily for the fourth year in a row.”

 “As a team, the Wasps have plenty of playoff experience, and with the reacquisition of Richard Fitzwilliam as Seeker and Malfoy moving to Chaser permanently, I’m sure they will be a strong contender.  You know I am loathe to admit anything positive regarding Malfoy, but he is a much stronger Chaser than he has ever been a Seeker.”

 “He is lethal as a Chaser,” Rufus agreed.

 “It will be interesting to see how line chemistry develops over the second half of the season.”

 Rufus nodded. “You were at Hogwarts with both Malfoy and Weasley, so what do you think of the potential there?”

 Lee laughed. “Well, Weasleys and Malfoys did not get on together at school, that’s certain.”

 Rufus laughed too.

 “Malfoy is smart enough to recognise talent, especially when it benefits him.  That has not changed since Hogwarts.” Lee continued, “Like I said, Ginny has the potential to be one of the league’s best Chasers and I am really glad to see her on a team that will appreciate her skill set.  As a right-winger, she is a quick passer, generous enough to pass to her centre when the situation demands instead of insisting on all the glory of goals for herself.”

 “Malfoy is right-handed, which was a factor in trading for her, besides the clearance in cap space.  I suspect that Malfoy will be getting a significant raise with his new contract,” Rufus replied.

 “Yes, but they will need to sign Ginny to a contract while she is a restricted agent, though she can’t yet draw the numbers that Malfoy can,” Lee added.

 “But you think that she will?”

 Lee grinned. “Absolutely.  Ginny Weasley is going to be a star, mark my words.  Malfoy and Ginny on a line together?  I have a feeling that this is going to be something else.  Hub Bailey knows this.  His boss and Wasp owner Frank Churchill has been crowing about this.”

 “I am going to hold you to that declaration,” Rufus laughed.

 “Sure.”

 “Past Malfoy and Weasley animosity aside, eh?”

 “‘Course that would be interesting to watch too.  I don’t think we’ve had an on-pitch fight between teammates since Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint were on the Falmouth Falcons together.”

 “No, no, you’re right,” laughed Rufus again, “but let’s hope not too right.”

 “Let’s.”

 “Her past injuries are worrisome if you are a teammate or a Wasp fan.”

 Lee sobered, “That was one of the worst illegal hits that I’ve seen firsthand in my career.  I still think that McLaggen should have been suspended for the rest of the season.”

 Rufus agreed with that assessment.

 “Ginny’s agent has said that her health is recovered now and she was cleared by league healers for the trade.  I have far more confidence in the Wasps organisation than the Magpies.  They will act in her and the team’s best interest.”

 “That was a shocking lack of responsibility on the part of the Magpies.  I’m glad to see the League take it up in drafting new rules dealing with headshots and concussion protocol.”

 “Yes, the league needs to reform in that area.  I’d like to see something in line with the Continental League’s rules.”

 “On that note, we will take a break.  When we return, we will be joined by Sylvain Fleury of the Continental League, where we will discuss the British League’s reforms on headshots.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

The assembled players remained gathered around the coaching staff in the practice pitch at Weymouth, listening to announcements and the afternoon’s agenda.   Coach Edgecombe was stern as he introduced the two additions to the team, explaining what he would expect of them and of the team as a whole.  His players respected him and listened, a strange concept given the Magpies’ general disregard for their coaching systems.  But then, Edgecombe himself was a legend in English Quidditch, taking the Arrows to a league title eleven times in his Chasing career.  One could do worse than to listen to Edgie whose “Quidditch sense” was legendary too.

 Ginny recognized some of the players from her days with the Manchester Ducks, the farm team of the Montrose Magpies.  The Wimbourne Wasps sometimes held practices with their own farm team, the Weymouth Wasps, or Baby Wasps as they were colloquially known.  The management and coaches felt that the shared practices helped to create and maintain chemistry in case of call-ups and reinforced consistency in the system.  Therefore, some of the assembled players were quite known to Ginny on the pitch; she knew some of their moves and idiosyncrasies, and she meant to use that knowledge in leverage, to take advantage of their weaknesses and prove herself on the senior team.

 In particular, she knew: Romilda Vane, her former Hogwarts housemate and a Chaser with the Baby Wasps; Malfoy the Seeker; and Melusine Hervey, the Keeper for Wimbourne who had dated Charlie at Hogwarts. She knew Mellie only vaguely, but at least she was a friendly face – which was more than could be said for Romilda.  Or Malfoy.  Maybe. 

 Fitz, Ginny knew by reputation, because she had crushed on him, _hard_ as a teen, when he’d first been drafted by the Wasps and was the love of every young witch’s heart – behind Harry Potter anyway.  How she had raved when he had not been picked to represent England at the World Cup a few years ago.

 She also knew one of the Beaters, George Wickham, by reputation, if not by experience.  He had dated Lavender a few times when she had been dazzled by his good looks and status in the Quidditch world.  Wickham could be charming, Lav had conceded, if he were not a complete snake.  His current unabashed leering of Ginny made her skin crawl and she could not imagine ever finding the wizard charming.  He was known for his pursuit of attached witches, having been cited in two divorce cases so far.  She shuddered.  At least she didn’t have to fly with Wickham.

 Ginny had been introduced almost immediately.  She could not help meeting Malfoy’s cool grey gaze as she nodded to her new teammates.  He didn’t nod back to her as the others did in acknowledgement or murmurs his welcome as those closest to her.  Not unfriendly exactly, but disconcerting in a way she could not recognise and far different from the almost playful Malfoy she had met the other evening at the ball, or the sleepy Malfoy she had met in the offices that morning.  Intense, perhaps that was the word crawling to her when she stared back at him, his lip turned up in a half-smirk.  She wouldn’t turn away, because doing so would seem too much like a defeat, even though the smirk widened the longer she stared back.  It made it difficult to keep track of the coach’s words. 

 She didn’t mind it, and Malfoy’s gaze was different from Wickham’s leer.  It wasn’t threatening, though she could not say why – that she would feel Malfoy to be non-threatening would be enough to send Harry into apoplexy. 

 Ginny turned her attention resolutely back to the coach, when Edgie introduced Richard Fitzwilliam, the other addition to the team.  Fitz was a Seeker reacquired from the Ballycastle Bats for second and third round draft picks. He’d been a popular re-acquisition, having led the Wasps to the semi-finals in the League Title playoffs three times in his earliest years. He’d always been popular with the fans, and Ballycastle fans were reluctant to see him go. Ginny and Fitz had been welcomed with somewhat friendly cheer, though the players would wait for a true welcome after they had been assessed in practice. Or, at least Fitz had been welcomed enthusiastically. He was a known entity and cousin to Malfoy, their captain. The Wasps were always snobbish that way – understandably so, as they were counted to be an upcoming Cup threat.

 Ginny listened  to the coach, to noting his instructions, especially as he went over drills, indicating which passes to practice, which players would be assigned to which keeper, etc.  Or, rather, she tried to focus solely on her coach’s instruction, which was increasingly difficult given the little scene playing out to the side.  Though Ginny had assumed that a full-grown Romilda Vane would be somewhat professional, she had not changed so much since her Hogwarts days as to ignore the proximity of an attractive wizard.  Even Ginny could admit that the form-fitting capeless practice kit did wonders for Malfoy’s physique, a patch of pale skin at his neck a beacon against the black attire.  It was distracting, enough.  She could almost see the faint mark of Harry’s Sectumsempra curse.

 Apparently, Romilda thought so too, as she appeared to be attempting to climb Malfoy’s leg, so close was she hanging on to his arm.  He frowned and pushed her away.  At least she was daring, Ginny would give her that.  Malfoy was their captain after all.

 Malfoy frowned and hissed at Romilda, causing her to redden and pout, and caught Ginny’s eye as he moved a few feet away from his harasser.  He raised an eyebrow at her smirk, even as he turned his attention to the team, speaking to them as their captain.

 He talked about their last victory, which was messy at best, and against a better team than the Cannons would have been a defeat.  It wouldn’t do to grow complacent in the middle of the season even though they had a comfortable lead in their conference.  He spoke of faulty plays and how they could be bettered, noting each’s player’s strength in changing those plays.  To Ginny’s surprise, he didn’t really talk about weaknesses, apparently leaving that to the coaching staff.  His job as captain, apparently, was to concentrate on the strengths and keeping them cohesive and whole.  She was surprised.  So many captains in professional Quidditch revelled in the glories of captainship while leaving its responsibilities to the coaches.  She’d heard enough and seen enough to know that Malfoy took his Quidditch career and his role as Captain very seriously. 

 Before today, she hardly had any room for comparison since the end of the war.  But, Ginny was impressed.  At least on this first day, she was impressed and more than a little relieved.  Malfoy had real leadership qualities.  He was not hostile and she did not exactly know what to do with that.

 Ginny’s general unease and jittery hands since her laps around the pitch quietened, at least until she made it in the air again.  Trades were never an easy business and her situation made it even more difficult.  She had to prove herself twice as much as the others.  The Wasps had to see that they had not been mistaken in their assessment of her, that she was worth the risk.  She’d been buzzing all morning, hyper-aware of everyone and everything, so much so that she felt that it must be the post-concussion symptoms rearing their ugly head.  Soon, she’d be flat on the ground, shaking and hiding her eyes against all the garish colours and smells and sounds.

 But she wasn’t.  When she took to the air again to begin the drills, her course was steady, and though her hands shook slightly on the broom, no one could see the evidence beneath her gloves.  She had to find her legs again, so to speak.

 Somehow, the fact that the cool, clinical Malfoy was captain helped.  His confidence in the team and their abilities strengthened her own.  She didn’t need his support, exactly, but it helped that school-boy Malfoy was long buried beneath the grown-up version.  If nothing else, she could trust his unbiased assessment of her abilities.  He’d never tread with kid gloves and she could trust his assessments.  He wouldn’t mince words.  That was something real.  She had confidence him as her captain – surprisingly.  Wouldn’t Harry’s head explode?

 Still, it was more than awkward to be hovering mid-air next to him as they waited their turn in drills.

 Malfoy did not speak for a long moment as he observed the players taking turns, his quick eyes darting and taking mental notes.  Though she was only waiting for her turn at the drill, his eyes strayed to her, resting for a moment, though whether it was to assess her as well or whether it was merely an absence of mind, she could not say.  He was, as ever, very difficult to read.  But then, she had not said anything either, and was determined to break the awkwardness, when he did speak.

 “Do you often hide from your fiancé at social functions?”

 After his narrowed focus on the team all morning, this was the question least expected from him. “What?”

 “It just seemed like you were trying to avoid Potter on Saturday. Not that I can blame you, but I am curious. You always seemed like the type to follow blindly at his heels.” His tone was amused rather than mocking.

 “I was not avoiding Harry! Why in Merlin’s name would you think so?”

 “You were hanging about with Slytherins and all sorts of miscreants.”

 “Are you calling yourself a miscreant?”

 “Actually, _Ginny,_ I was referring to Blaise. He is abysmally amoral,” Malfoy said.

 “And you are so very moral yourself, I’m sure.” She pinked at the pointed reference to her name.  The way she had blurted out her name that morning like a dork.  Ugh.  Why were they having this conversation at all, while their teammates flew laps and passed Quaffles all around them?  Fitz dived beneath them just then, having spotted the Snitch, which they both observed in silence for a moment.  After his cousin freed the Snitch again, Malfoy turned back her.

 He was almost relaxed, this pitch evidently a second home, and all the ins and outs of captaining and managing a team second nature.  Malfoy really didn’t think too much about switching hats and Ginny wondered if he even realised that he did so.  “I never said that it was a bad trait, _Ginny_. Certainly better than the sanctimonious drivel that usually spouts from Gryffindor mouths.”

 “I am going to ignore that slight, magnanimously, because I am a Gryffindor,” she responded in a deceptive lofty tone.  How long would he continue to stress her name in that teasing, slightly slurring of the _G_ way of his?  It embarrassed her tremendously.

 His smirk was almost a smile.

 “But, I was not hiding from Harry.” She smiled.

 “No? It must have been my mistake, but I could have sworn that you dived behind Blaise and Daph when you saw him coming.”

 “Oh that,” she dismissed. “I was avoiding Rita Skeeter. She was tailing Harry all evening, and I wanted a respite.”

 “So you left Potter to the wolves.”

 “He’s big boy. I have no doubt that he can take care of himself.”

 “How very Slytherin of you, Weasley.”

 She was about to remark that Houses shouldn’t matter now, but Coach Edgecombe interrupted, urging her to take the Quaffle. “You’re up, Weasley.”

 Her nerves flared again, and Ginny realised that she had forgotten her anxiety during her banter with Malfoy.  She almost wondered if he had done so on purpose.  But this was Malfoy.  He may be a good captain, but he was not so considerate or sensitive as that. 

 She nodded and moved ahead to take the Quaffle from the left-wing Fergus’s outstretched arm.  She knew that Malfoy must be watching her, as he had watched every player in their turn.  Her heart seemed to beat in her throat and pound in her ears.  Nervous again, perhaps more so for Malfoy standing so close.  At least Coach Edgecombe was a reasonable distance away, though he, too, watched.  She wanted to impress them both.  Perhaps a little of school rivalry remained, because she wanted Malfoy, in particular, to be dazzled by her skills.  Instead, she felt more like Hogwarts Ginny, slightly sick and wanting to be the perfect girl and swallowing that fear and hoping to appear so confident.

 She tossed the Quaffle, catching it and feeling the weight and roughness of the leather like sandpaper against her gloves.  Considering her move, her best approach.  How to trick Mellie the Wasp Keeper, whom she had never played against.  How to show them that her concussion had not hampered her natural skill nor her Quidditch sense.

 “Just breathe,” she whispered to herself. At least her broom held steady, even when she risked another glance at the critical and thoughtful captain Malfoy.

 She darted forward and her mind blanked white.  She must have done well as some of the Baby Wasps hanging about the side clapped, and the junior coach Watson nodded in appreciation.  Ginny felt … okay, solid, confident, like pre-concussion Ginny, who believed if she just worked hard enough, reached far enough, she’d make the major team.

 Unnaturally short of breath from that brief excursion, Ginny slowed to the side to join the others as they organised to practice Quaffle passes.  Suddenly, an object, hard and heavy and vibrating with energy, struck her side, unseating her.  Her feet dangled in mid-air, but she held onto her broom even when she was certain that she was falling.  She couldn’t breathe; wheezing, gasping, all the air seemed trapped inside her lungs, making her dizzy.  The ground seemed to be rising to meet her, just like before, when McLaggen had aimed a Bludger at her head.  _Not again_.

 Her head was pounding from the lack of air, and her broom was somehow shaky for she could not find purchase enough to pull herself up.  And then, the broom stilled, seemingly of its own accord and a hand appeared to help her pull herself up.  Fitz.

 “Damn Beaters,” he muttered, as she pulled herself into position again.

 “Thanks,” she gasped, her cheeks burning.  This was not how her first practice was supposed to go.  Damn.  Damn.  Damn.

 Fitz seemed to want to say something more to her, but thought the better of it.  Undoubtedly, she looked as miserable and embarrassed as she felt.  He only nodded and just as he turned towards the Seeker coach, he said, “Good job on the drill, Weasley.”

 “Thanks,” she muttered again.

 She wished she could hide her face in her hands.  If there had only been a time turner at hand to undo the damage she had just done to her own career.  The caution flag didn’t matter; she should have been more aware of her surroundings, especially of the unpredictable Bludgers.  Even with a Beater standing by to deflect, a professional Quidditch player would know not to trust in only that.  _She_ knew that; she did, but perhaps she had lost some of that Quidditch sense after all.  Damn, damn, damn.  She was going to be relegated to the Baby Wasps.  Fuck. 

 Ginny pressed a hand to her side, no blood, and she did not yet feel pain.  That would come later when the adrenaline wore off.  For now, she would not let her teammates see how much she had been rattled by a rogue Bludger, like a silly Hogwarts student.

 Her breathing still uneven, she refocused her attention on the practice.  Fitz nodded to Malfoy in response to something before returning to his own Seeker exercises.  It was deliberate.

 The tip of a wand stuck out of a practice holder, now exposed at Malfoy’s waist.

 A wand.

 He had not taken his turn in drill though he had been right behind her.  There’d been enough time passed, but he remained in the place she left him, his brow furrowed, angry.

 And someone had stopped her broom from shaking or at least steadied it against her own shaking.

 And as captain, Malfoy was the only player allowed to bring a wand on the pitch during practice.

 Had he …

 He called Wickham over to receive the full force of his anger.  He was the assigned Beater at their end of the pitch.  She could barely hear the words over the distance or the rushing of her own ears, though the raising ire of “fucking imbecile, can’t you see the caution flag?” carried. 

 “I can’t be everywhere at once,” Wickham defended, growing louder himself.

 “It is your job to protect the Chasers and the Seeker, especially with a fucking _caution flag_.”  Caution flags were sacred in professional Quidditch, where injuries could easily be career-ending or even life-ending.  No decent captain could let such a mistake slide.

 “I know my job Malfoy.”

 “Then act like it.”

 “Fuck, do you know how many Bludgers and Chasers are flying around the pitch right now?” Wickham argued, gesturing towards the entire pitch.

 Malfoy’s expression was thunderous.  The contempt and questioning in Wickham’s voice was not something the captain could or should ignore.  His voice was icy blue heat and the resemblance to Lucius Malfoy so strong that it caused chills to break out beneath Ginny’s practice kit.  “You were assigned Weasley’s caution flag.  If that is too much responsibility for you, Wickham, then perhaps you need a conditioning stint with the Baby Wasps.”

 Wickham opened his mouth and quickly shut it again, resembling something like a guppy, if a guppy could be simultaneously flushed in anger.  But he seemed to know better than to push his captain further.

 The argument had been loud enough to draw the attention of everyone on their side of the pitch, and even Ginny had been moving closer without being aware of her movement.  Malfoy was usually more controlled, Ginny gathered from the chatter around her.

 “Wow,” she heard Mellie whisper behind her, “and with the Arrows game coming up in a few weeks.”

 “Wickham should know better than to challenge the captain or the coach.  Merlin’s fucking beard, we aren’t at Hogwarts,” was the left-wing Chaser, Fergus Donnelly’s assessment.  “This isn’t a democracy.”

 The coach flew through the small crowd of players, speaking with both Wickham and Malfoy in hushed tones before sending Wickham away.  Towards the Baby Wasps, Ginny was careful to note.

 “All right, Weasley?” Coach Edgecombe asked.

 “Yes sir.”

 “Better have Dashwood take a look just in case.”

 Ginny nodded and then saw that Malfoy was staring at her again, though the expression was unreadable now.  Strangely, she was pleased that Malfoy didn’t ask if she was okay when he could plainly see that she was, and knew that she would be properly assessed shortly.  There was a definite freedom in not having to constantly reassure everyone around her that she was, in fact, okay. 

 Her first practice might not have been flawless, but okay.  It was something to improve upon and to prove herself to the Wasps.  “Don’t worry, Ginny,” Mellie said, patting her shoulder before flying off back towards the goals, “happens to all of us one time or another.” Coming from another player, the words _were_ reassuring.  They were all professional athletes and had likely been in her shoes. 

 “Thanks, Mellie,” she said.

 Ginny needed to see Dashwood, but she wanted to hang back just to watch Malfoy’s turn at the drill now that practice had resumed.  She admired his elegant seat as he flew a few small circles to gather momentum, his sleek, quick movements meant to throw off Mellie’s judgement (which it frequently did). He crouched over his broom to dodge a Bludger and never paused, though he maintained speed and direction with seeming ease – a feline grace she envied.  He was a born Chaser.  She had noticed his flying skills at Hogwarts and later during his season with the Baby Wasps, but she had never been so close to notice the smallest details.  He had always been a remarkably stylish Seeker, but his skills were never showcased in this position.  As a Chaser, his fluidity was stunning.

 

* * *

* * *

 

“Thanks for drawing my bath, Harry,” Ginny murmured, leaning back against the tub.  Regardless of her annoyance that morning, she was pleased to find him waiting for her, and Harry was so rarely available in the evenings.   She opened her eyes briefly. “Why don’t you join me? My muscles ache and it would be nice to just lie here with you.”

 “You sure?” Normally, Ginny did not like to share a bath.

 “Absolutely,” she smiled. “Come on, get naked with me Potter.”

 Harry quickly shed his clothes and slid in behind her so that she rested against his chest. Then, he tapped the tub to enlarge it comfortably, and dropped his wand to the side. “That’s much better,” he said. “So, how was your first day as a Wasp?”

 “Brutal drills. Edgecombe is a much tougher coach than Langdale ever was for the Ducks. But, he is good and creative. Did you know that the Wasps and the Baby Wasps practice together sometimes? I wish that they’d done that in the Magpies organisation.” Malfoy was a tougher and better captain than she expected too. 

 “Were you cleared for contact?”

 “Not yet, but increased drills, so I think that it should be soon.”

 “How do you feel?”

 “No headaches so far,” she hedged, beyond the Bludger episode she had no intention of disclosing.

 Harry urged her up a little so that he could massage her shoulders. “Good.” His fingers stilled when they brushed across a bruise. “I thought you said that you weren’t cleared for contact.”

 “A rogue Bludger. I’m okay though.” His fingers continued tracing the outline of the bruise, larger than she expected, a little larger than her hand even.  It hadn’t seemed so large when it hit her side and caught her off-balance; it hadn’t even hurt at the time.  She waited for her lecture, silent and bullish, though Harry couldn’t see her expression. 

  _Please don’t say I told you so_ , she thought, even uncharitably for as often as they argued about her career, he had never said such a thing.  She expected it though, somehow.

 “I still wish that you had taken more time off.”

 She sighed. “I’m fine, Harry. I promise.” She turned slightly and pressed a kiss to the hand resting on her shoulder.

 “It was a nasty concussion, Gin. They had to levitate you off the pitch.”

 He always had to push, though he knew her temper had been quick since the concussion – even as she recognised that she was slightly unreasonable in this respect.

 “I swear to Merlin that I’m fine,” she said, irritably. At his hurt expression, she amended, “I’m sorry, Harry. I know that you’ve been worried. I’m just sore and grouchy.”

 Ginny felt Harry’s furrowed brow resting against her temple, the tightness about his arms that bespoke his frustration more than his voice had betrayed.  He’d grown so used to keeping his emotions in check after her injury.  She’d been so sensitive to others’ moods as well as her own that Harry had begun to hide so much from her – to protect her, because he could not bear to see her cringing and huddled, glasses and tables shattering from her uncontrolled magic.  And now they were both strangled with the fears and thoughts.

 “And you had to deal with Malfoy all day. That would make anyone sore.”

 Ginny turned back and closed her eyes, enjoying Harry’s ministrations, allowing her mind to wander.  Malfoy flew so effortlessly, more effortlessly than anyone she had ever seen in person. Harry had been a better Seeker in school, but he could not match Malfoy’s flying in later years. And his aim in goal-scoring. He could trick a Keeper so easily – swerving and feinting and deking. Flying on his line in practice had been exhilarating. They clicked so well. Perhaps it was their former animosity, but she could _feel_ where he was on the pitch – as she had nearly always been aware of his presence in a room.

 And, for whatever his reason, he had not remarked or mocked or scolded her for the Bludger incident.  It had not been her fault, but her weakness was; her judgement was at fault.  And Malfoy had not said a word about it afterwards, or about much at all to her.

 “Ginny?”

 “Oh, what, Harry?” she asked, grateful that he could not see her flushing cheeks.

 “I asked if Malfoy had been awful to you.”

 “No, why would he be?” She answered, grateful that Harry had let the bruise slide so easily.

 “Honestly?”

 “Harry, that was just a school rivalry. Malfoy and I are on the same team now. It would not be in his best interest to start something with his line-mate.”

 “I suppose not,” he conceded reluctantly.

 She reached for her shampoo and handed it to him. “Suds me up, will you?”

 He obliged, slowly massaging her scalp just as she liked. “I still don’t like you working with him so closely. Malfoy can still be dangerous.”

 “We are all grown-ups now, Harry. The war was a long time ago.”

 “Not so long ago and he still has terrible connections.”

 “Which you know that he is trying to get past.”

 “How do you know that?”

 “Well, he is certainly _not_ taking part in Death Eater raids, is he? Not with Edgecombe’s schedule.”

 Ginny didn’t have to face Harry to read his irritation.  He would never see reason where a Malfoy was concerned, and he was an Auror through and through.  The war was over and he’d had a part in that, but he also had a part in the keeping of the peace.  He would always strike against the monsters in the shadows instead of learning to live with them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt:  
> Story notes: Basic outline: Ginny is engaged to Harry Potter and is unhappy. Somehow she slowly begins an affair with Draco Malfoy. It's up to you to decide how the affair will end. (Whether it be a happy ending for our favorite pairing, DG, or if one of the participants ends it for various reasons.)
> 
> Must Haves: Romance. Angst. There needs to be a large build up to the affair. Make it realistic. They can't just jump in the sack together. There needs to be a span of time where Ginny toys with the idea first.
> 
> No-No's: Draco can't have a significant other. He needs to be single for this fic. Please, no bad Harry. I actually want him to be a good guy. Ginny has just lost her feelings for him.
> 
> Rated: T-M (I'm totally for SMUT)
> 
> Bonus points: If Draco isn't exactly nice. It would be nice to see him being a bit of an arse. Please keep his personality compliant with the canon Draco. It would be nice if there was a physical attraction between the two and eventually an emotional bond. Major bonus points if the fic has multiple chapters. Gigantic bonus points for a well written smut scene.


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